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WORDS AND ways; 


OR, 


What They Said, and What Came of It. 




BY 

SARAH J. JONES. 



NEW YORK: 

PHILLIPS ^ HUNT. 
Cl NCI NN A TI: 

CRANSTON STOWE. 
1885. 




Copyright, 1885, by 

PHILLIPS & HUNT, 

New York. 



I 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTBR PAGB 

I, Know Thyself 7 

II. The Talking Society 19 

III. Willy O’Connor’s Revenge 28 

IV. Robert White’s Prospects 37 

V. Silver Speech and Golden Silence 60 

VI. Foolish Counselors 60 

VII. “That Bothersome Baby” 68 

VIII. The Scattered Thistle Seeds 80 

IX. Free Speech 90 

X. The Decision 99 

XI. The Family Council Ill 

XII. “The Hegira” 122 

XIII. The New Home 139 

XIV. Forgotten Promises 152 

XV. Disappointment and Sorrow 165 

XVI. A Visit op Condolence 174 

XVII. An Intruder at the Seance 190 

XVIII. “ An Innocent Game of Euchre ” . . . . 202 

XIX, “Seeing Life” 215 


4 Contents. 

CHAPTER ' PAGE 

XX. The Harvest 226 

XXI. Truth and Error 239 

XXII. Double Trouble 250 

XXIII. “Where Am I Going?” 261 

XXIV. Back to the Old Home 270 


PART I. 


THE BOYS AND GIRLS OF PLAINVILLE. 





WORDS AND WAYS. 


CHAPTEE I. 

KNOW THYSELF. 

“ Most men will proclaim every one his own goodness.” — Prov. xx, 6. 
“ Whoso boasteth himself of a false gift is like clouds and wind with- 
out rain.” — Prov. xxv, 14. 

A ugusta CLAEK came hurrying in from school, 
looking warm and excited as she swung her strap 
of books. 

“ O mamma, we are going to get up a Talking So- 
ciety — I and Sally Hyde and Lucy Bell ! ” she ex- 
claimed. 

“ Are you ? ” asked her mother, quietly. 

“ Better organize a Keeping Silence Society ; there 
is too much talking in Plainville now,” suggested 
Brother Arthur from behind the curtain, where he 
was reading. 

“ O, this is for the purpose of correcting all bad 
talking,” answered Augusta. “ Mr. Henry preached 
about ‘ The Little Foxes,’ in his children’s sermon 
yesterday, and he said a good deal about the evils of 
the tongue, and so we thought we would see what we 


8 


Words and Ways. 


can do. Lydia Jennings is always saying spiteful, 
disagreeable things, and Jack Kobinson is always teas- 
ing, and Georgie Nelson uses slang, and, O, there are 
ever so many others who need to set a watch over 
‘ the unruly member,’ as Mr. Henry called it. There 
are Kate Harvey and Burton Bell and — ” 

“Augusta Clark,” supplemented the voice from 
behind the curtain. 

“Now, Arthur, you know better,” retorted Au- 
gusta, somewhat disconcerted. “ I don’t lie, nor swear, 
nor snub people to their faces, nor — ” 

“ Talk about them behind their backs ? ” queried the 
voice. Augusta was nearly ready to cry with vexa- 
tion, and her mother did not come to her assistance, 
as she sometimes did when Arthur teased her. She 
hesitated for a moment, and then went on, ignoring 
the interiuption, 

“Nor use slang, nor speak disrespectfully to old 
people ! ” she concluded, triumphantly. 

“ ‘ Let another man praise thee, and not thine own 
mouth ; a stranger, and not thine own lips,’ ” came 
the voice of the unseen monitor. 

Augusta, as you have already seen, was herself by 
no means free from faults, and now she grew so angry 
that she threw her strap of books violently at the 
curtain which shielded her brother, and then rushed 
out of the parlor and up to her own room. Her 
anger and humiliation were so great that she did not 
go down when the tea-bell rang ; and when Margaret 


Know Thyself. 9 

came to call her she said that her head ached,. and she 
did not wish for any supper. She indulged in a 
hearty fit of crying, and thought she was a very badly 
used individual indeed. 

After a while, when her anger and pride had some- 
what spent their violence, she bathed her face and 
brushed her hair and sat down by the open window. 
She felt a little repentant for her conduct as she saw 
Arthur at work on the grand new swing which he had 
promised to make for her. She began to think that 
big brothers were not wholly nuisances after all, as 
she had declared to herself in her anger a little while 
before. The sun was setting, and a golden glow from 
the west rested like a smile on the garden beneath her 
window, lighting up the picture, and deepening the 
softened feeling that was beginning to assert itself in 
her heart, as she watched the busy worker who was 
working for her pleasure. 

And now she remembered a great many things 
which contradicted her hasty judgment. But a mo- 
ment later her mother tapped at her door, and the 
sight of her brought back a vivid recollection of her 
recent humiliation like a wave which swept away all 
her better feelings. 

Mrs. Clark looked grave instead of smiling on her 
daughter as usual, and Augusta sullenly turned away 
her head and looked out of the window again. 

Her mother sat down near her, and waited for a few 
moments. Then she said : “lam sorry that my little 


10 


Words and Ways. 


girl has so sadly given way to a temper which I had 
hoped she was trying to control.” 

Augusta stubbornly remained silent. 

‘‘We should be willing to see our own faults as 
well as the faults of others,” continued Mrs. Clark. 
“ But I have not time to talk much with you now. 
I must go and get Arthur’s valise ready, for he is 
obliged to go to New York this evening for Mr. 
Gage.” 

“ I wish he would go to New York and stay there ! 
Then may be I could control my temper, and have 
some peace besides,” exclaimed Augusta, as her 
mother went out. A little later she heard Arthur 
himself coming up the stairs, three steps at a time, and, 
following the suggestion of the evil spirit which had 
taken possession of her, Augusta hastily fastened her 
door. 

When Arthur found that he was locked out, he 
blew a long whistle, a demonstration which his sister 
especially disliked, as he frequently used it when she 
was in wliat he called “ one of her tantrums.” 

Then he said : “ Come now, Gussie, make friends 
and tell a fellow good-bye. May be I’ll never come 
back again.” 

“I hope you never will!” answered Augusta, 
through the key-hole, the demon of pride and anger 
holding her bound fast. 

Arthur said no more, and a few minutes later she 
heard him going down stairs again. Then the angel 


Know Thyself. 


11 


of love and forgiveness prompted her to go after him 
and confess her fault ; but pride said : 

“Ko; lie ought to have apologized to me for the 
way in which he spoke.” 

And so she remained in her room, and the darkness 
crept in and shadowed every thing. She heard the 
shriek of the locomotive as the gloom grew heavier, 
and it sounded to her, as it had never done before, 
like a cry of pain. 

At last Augusta threw herself on the bed, and 
cried herself to sleep. She did not awake again un- 
til morning, but her sleep was disturbed by trouble- 
some dreams. She thought that her brother had in- 
deed gone away never to return ; that days and weeks 
and months passed, and her swing remained unfin- 
ished and her summer-house unbuilt ; but, worst of 
all, she missed her brother’s cheery face and pleasant 
companionship, for although Arthur was somewhat 
of a tease he was very kind to his sister, and she 
loved him dearly when she was not angry, and 
thought there was not another brother like him in 
the world. She dreamed that every one blamed her 
because he did not come back ; that her mother’s face 
wore always a grave, grieved look, and that her father 
treated her with coldness, and scarcely spoke to her. 

Augusta awoke herself crying over her troubles, 
and was very glad to find that she had only been 
dreaming. But the thought came to her again and 
again, while she was making her toilet, “ What if it 


12 


Words and Ways. 


should all come true? Wliat if Arthur should never 
come back ? Such things had happened before, and 
might happen again.” 

When this girl of my story appeared at the break- 
fast table, she was really suffering from the headache 
which she had only imagined on the previous even- 
ing, and looked so pale and miserable that Mr. Clark 
petted her more than usual, and her mother, fearing 
that she was really ill, made her a cozy nest on the 
sofa by the window, and, closing the shutters, made 
her lie down, and fanned her. 

Augusta presently said that she was better, and 
would get ready for school. She did feel better ; her 
headache was passing off ; but alas ! she now began 
to feel that she had been treated very badly on yes- 
terday, and that her mother was trying to make 
amends for it. Foolish, vain little Augusta! This 
salve for her wounded pride was very pleasant to 
her, and she wenf up stairs with a slow, languid step, 
feeling quite like a martyr. When she came down 
ready for school, and her mother asked her if she felt 
sure she was well enough to go, she answered plaint- 
ively that “ she guessed so,” and went into the par- 
lor for her books. She found them on the window- 
seat beside one of Arthur’s, the one which he had 
been reading last evening. It was one of a number 
of large, leather-covered volumes which Augusta was 
wont to call “ pokey old law books ” when she wished 
her brother to lay them aside to take her out riding, 


Know Thyself. 13 

or comply with some of the many demands which she 
made upon him. 

The sight of the familiar binding ruffled her self- 
complacency a little. She took it up, and, resting it 
on her left arm, slowly turned over the leaves, think- 
ing, not of the contents of the book at all, but of her 
dream. She wanted sorely to ask when Arthur was 
expected to return, but she could not bring her pride 
to allow her to do so after the wish which she had 
expressed last night. 

Just at this point she came across a slip of paper 
which seemed to be her brother’s plan for his work 
for the week: “ Monday, Gussie’s swing. Kew York 
by evening train. Return "W ednesday morning.” 

Here Augusta stopped reading. This was all she 
wanted to know. Arthur would be at home to-mor- 
row, then, and what was the use of worrying about a 
silly dream ? So she went back to the fortress of her 
pride, and said to herself that she was planning to do 
a good thing, and Arthur had teased her and made 
fun of her, and her mamma had taken sides against 
her ; and she went back to her mother’s room with a 
very comical expression of injured innocence on her 
face. 

Mrs. Clark smiled, in spite of herself, before Au- 
gusta’s back was turned, and then sighed and looked 
grave as she watched her down the street. 

My reader, you little know the trials and difflculties 
which your parents undergo in their efforts to train 


14 WoEDS AND Ways. 

you up in the right way, to fit you for usefulness and 
happiness. 

As for Augusta, in spite of her air of wounded 
goodness, she went to school rather divided in her 
own mind as to the position which she held, whether 
she was an abused well-doer, or a very naughty girl 
who should be, and in time would be, punished for 
her fault. 

She got through the day tolerably well, but when 
the morning trains both arrived, and Arthur did not 
appear, she thought of her dream again. Nothing 
seemed to go quite right, either at home or school. 

Miss Maxwell reproved her for inattention in her 
history class, and when she was reciting her geogra- 
phy lesson she said that the capital of Massachusetts 
was New York. 

The boys and girls laughed at her blunder, not 
knowing that she scarcely heard the question, and 
that the great metropolis was hardly absent from her 
mind all day as her dream wove its somber threads 
through all her waking thoughts. 

But that day somehow came to an end, and so did 
the next, and the next, but Arthur did not come ; and 
her mamma did look grieved as Augusta had dreamed ; 
and her papa, though he did not treat her coldly, 
looked graver than usual, and he and her mother 
once stopped talking suddenly as soon as she came 
into the room where they were. 

So the time passed away, and Friday evening came. 


Know Thyself. 


15 


How Augusta longed to ask whether her brother was 
not coming back, and to beg her papa to write for him 
to come ! Had he sailed for some foreign land ? 
Was he staying away because she had wished that he 
might never return ? or had something dreadful hap- 
pened to him ? 

She spent the evening in her own room, and when 
she heard Lucy Bell calling her, she pretended not 
to hear. Lucy was her next-door neighbor, and the 
two girls were seldom apart for long at a time. There 
was a little stile on the dividing fence, under the big 
grape-vine, where the two held frequent meetings. 
Arthur called the place “ the rookery,” and some- 
times teased the girls by pretending to try to over- 
hear their confidential chat, while Lucy’s numerous 
brothers and sisters frequently disturbed the inter- 
views. Lucy was now at the spot alone, with her 
mind full of the “ Talking Society but Augusta 
seemed to have lost all interest in the matter, and 
to-night she did not even go to excuse herself, for her 
eyes were red with weeping and she did not want to 
be seen. She sat at the window and watched the moon 
rise over the tops of the trees, and she thought that it 
looke(^ at her like a reproachful face. At last she 
retired, but not to rest. She tossed and turned, and 
finally, about midnight, she fell asleep, to dream again 
the dream that had seemed to come so true. Mrs. 
Clark heard Augusta making a strange, pitiful noise, 
and went to her room to find her sitting up in bed. 


16 


WoEDS AND Ways. 


crying and moaning as though heart-broken. It was 
some time before she could tell the cause of her 
trouble, but at last she sobbed out : 

“ I dreamed it again, and now I know it is true !” 

‘‘ O, never mind a dream, dear,” said her mother, 
sitting down on the side of the bed and putting her 
arms around the shaking form. 

“ Ah, but it is true,” answered Augusta, chokingly. 
“ He did not come back, and he will never come be- 
cause I told him not to come.” 

“ Poor child,” said Mrs Clark, “ poor, proud little 
girl, to make so much trouble for yourself.” 

She was silent for a moment, and then continued : 

“ Arthur will be at home to-moryow night. He 
wrote that papa was to tell you that he was detained, 
and when he should return, if you asked any thing 
about him ; but you did not ask, Augusta.” 

O mamma, I am so sorry and so glad,” sobbed 
the little girl, her pride all broken down by her sor- 
row and her joy. 

The confession sounded rather contradictory, but 
Mrs Clark understood Augusta well enough to know 
what it meant ; so she said some soothing words to 
the penitent and went back to her room. « 

Then Augusta climbed out of bed and knelt down 
in the moonlight. Ho one heard her prayer except 
God and the angels, but when she crept back to her 
pillow it was with a feeling of deep peace and thank- 
fulness. 


Know Thyself. 


17 


Why do we not strive harder to overcome our 
faults, when wrong-doing invariably brings its own 
punishment ? 

The next day, while Augusta was mending a pair 
of gloves for her brother, Mrs. Clark asked her when 
the “ Talking Society ” was to be organized. 

“ O mamma, please don’t say any thing about it ! ” 
exclaimed Augusta, with glowing cheeks. 

“ Why not ? I think it is a very good plan,” replied 
her mother, smiling in a re-assuring way. 

‘‘ But Arthur — ” began Augusta. 

“Never mind about Arthur,” answered Mrs. Clark, 
“ he only wanted to show you your own fault, a very 
common one, that of seeing the failings of others 
quite clearly while at the same time we are blind to 
those which belong to ourselves. But as it is sins 
of the tongue which we are to consider, let us make a 
list of some of them, and see if you can find any of 
yours among them.” 

So Mrs. Clark wrote on a slip of paper : 

“Idle words, self-praise, querulousness, exaggera- 
tion fiattery, angry speech, unkind remarks, evil advice, 
detraction, falsehood, impure and profane language.” 

My reader will be glad to know that Augusta dis- 
covered and acknowledged her own remissness in re- 
gard to bridling the tongue, and also that Arthur duly 
returned by the evening train. 

Augusta, having learned her own weakness, and 

having obtained strength to obey the precept, “ Con- 
2 


18 


Words and Ways. 


fess your faults one to another,” had taken an impor- 
tant step forward. But you must not suppose that 
she overcame her faults in a day, or that the desired 
reformation in speech was speedily effected in Plain- 
ville. 

There is no evil that seems to spread more rapidly 
in a community than the unwise use of the “ little 
member” which the apostle James calls a fire, and 
which he says that no man can tame. 

Great as this evil is, it can be corrected by the 
grace of God, who is “ strong to deliver and mighty 
to save.” 

Mrs. Clark proposed to Augusta that she should 
invite her classmates to a little gathering on the fol- 
lowing Saturday, at which time effort could be made 
to secure the co-operation of all in trying to correct 
some of the abuses of the tongue, against which Mr. 
Henry had warned them, and to remind them anew 
of the infallible cure to which he had pointed them. 


The Talking Society. 


19 


CHAPTEE II. 


THE TALKING SOCIETY. 

“A man that beareth false witness against his neighbor is a maul, 
and a sword, and a sharp arrow.” — Prov. xxv, 18 . 

HE little gathering of boys and girls in Mrs. 



i Clark’s parlor were talking freely, and, alas ! I 
must record the fact that the conversation did not 
seem to foreshadow the reformation which Mr. 
Henry’s discourse had sought to bring about, and 
which it was the object of this meeting to assist. 
Plainville was, perhaps, not worse than many other 
towns, in which communication degenerates into 
news-telling and criticism, but yet it was sadly in 
need of reform, as the progress of my story will 


show. 


“ Jennie King knows such a splendid new game, 
but I don’t believe she is coming,” Lucy Bell was 
saying. “ It is growing late already,” she added, 
after her incoherent style of speaking. “ And then 
Jennie is such a story-teller any way.” 

Sally Hyde was standing near the door regaling a 
little circle with the story of how old Mrs. O’Connor 
had beaten little Will and sent him off without his 
breakfast; and Georgie Kelson, perched upon the 


20 


WoEDS AND Ways. 


piano stool, was telling of something that was “ just 
jolly ! O, perfectly splendid ! a regular daisy ! ’’ 

‘‘What is that? the baby?” asked some one on 
the outer edge of the group. 

“IS'ot very much,” answered Georgie, making a 
wry face. “ I was talking about my new ball club. 
I don’t take any stock in the baby ; little red-faced, 
pug-nosed thing ! ” he added, laughing. 

“For shame!” exclaimed Jack Eobinson, stoutly. 
“ If we had a baby at our house I would not talk 
slang about it ; and I wouldn’t give it for all the old 
ball clubs that could be gotten together.” 

“You would very soon get over that,” answered 
Georgie. “ Every time I want to go anywhere or do 
any thing, that bothersome baby sets up a squall, and 
then I must jog the crib until her royal highness sees 
fit to go to sleep.” 

Kate Harvey was speaking in a more quiet, well- 
bred tone, but her hearers were listening very 
intently. 

“ I didn’t hear all about it,” she said, “ for mamma 
sent me out of the room on an errand ; but I heard 
her say something about ‘ his poor mother,’ and Miss 
M’Pheters said she supposed there was no doubt that 
it was true.” 

“What was true?” asked two of the girls in a 
breath. 

“Why something about Bob White, something 
about his clerkship at Uncle Eupert’s, something real 


The Talking Society. 


21 


bad, I suppose, from the way Miss M’Pheters spoke ; 
stealing or something.’’ 

“ O-o-o ! ” exclaimed the listeners. 

My reader, do you remember the story of Ahimaaz, 
who asked Joab to let him go to King David after 
the great battle in which Absalom was killed ? Joab 
answered : ‘‘ Wherefore wilt thou run, my son, see- 
ing that tliou hast no tidings ready ? But howsoever, 
said he, let me run.” And when he had run, he 
could only say : I saw a great tumult, but I knew 
not what it was.” 

There are many persons who are ready to give 
tidings before they are themselves really in possession 
of what they are so anxious to tell to others. Ahim- 
aaz may have wished to prepare the king for the sad 
news which he was soon to hear; but the motives of 
the would-be news-teller are not always so praise- 
worthy. There are many to-day like the Athenians 
of old, “ caring for nothing but either to tell or to 
hear some new thing.” 

Solomon, the wise man, said : “ In the multitude 
of words there wanteth not sin : but he that refrain- 
eth his lips is wise,” and, “ Even a fool, when he hold- 
eth his peace, is counted wise : and he that shutteth 
his lips is esteemed a man of understanding.” 

The talk went on, and Arthur Clark’s suggestion 
of a “ Keeping Silence Society ” would have been a 
good one just at this time, in view of some of the 
remarks that were being made. 


22 


Words and Ways. 


It may seem to my reader a little strange that 
Jenny King should have been passing the window 
just as Lucy Bell spoke of her as “a story-teller,” 
and that Willy O'Connor should have come to the 
door, and, unobserved, stood near while Sally Hyde 
was calling his grandmother ‘‘ a cruel old creature,” 
and telling what she had heard about her ; but just 
such unlooked-for things very often take place. 

Jenny paused at the outer door and hesitated for a 
moment. It was understood tliat Mrs. Clark was to 
give the children a treat of cake and ice-cream, and 
that Arthur was to show them some fine stereoscopic 
views as a part of the afternoon’s entertainment. 
Should she stay and get her share of the pleasure, or 
should she turn back and go home ? 

She finally decided on the latter course. As Lucy 
looked out of the window and their eyes met, Jenny 
set her head back with great dignity, and marched 
down the pavement, her heels ringing out on the 
stones like little hammers, and paying no attention to 
Augusta, who called to her from the window. 

Then Willy O’Connor made his appearance in the 
door-way, and actually shook his fist at Sally Hyde, 
as he said : 

‘‘ If you were only a boy I’d give you a good beat- 
ing the next time I meet you in the street, for telling 
stories on my grandmother. She never whipped me 
in my life, and she never sent me off without my 
breakfast neither ! ” 


The Talking Society. 


23 


As he turned round with red face and angry 
eyiBS, from the place in the room to which he had 
angrily pushed his way, there in the door stood Mrs. 
Clark. 

Now Will was rather a timid boy with grown-up 
people, and in view of his late angry words and gest- 
ures he felt utterly crest-fallen. He made a dart for 
the door, and, shooting past the lady, in spite of her 
efforts to arrest him, he never stopped running until 
he was out of sight. 

Assuredly the outlook was not promising for the 
success of the proposed society, and yet the need of 
such an organization was certainly apparent. 

Mrs. Clark looked troubled as she entered the room, 
and Sally looked very much ashamed. Here was 
another one of the movers of the reform falling into 
the very evil proposed for reformation. 

‘‘ O, Mrs. Clark ! ” she said, blushing, “ Susan said 
that it was true, and she said that old Mrs. O’Con- 
nor — ” 

“ But, my dear child,” interrupted Mrs. Clark, 
“ we must not listen to every idle report which comes 
within our hearing, and we should be very careful 
about repeating rumors. Floating stories are very 
often utterly untrustworthy ; and do you not think 
that we should rather try to repress the growing tend- 
ency to gossip, than to encourage and promote it by 
listening to and repeating all the stories that are 
current ? ” 


24 


WoBV AND Wats. 


Sally could not trust her voice to answer, and the 
lady went on : 

“ The apostle Paul spoke of some of whom he 
said : ‘ They learn to be idle, wandering about, from 
house to house ; and not only idle, but tattlers also 
and busybodies, speaking things which they . ought 
not and Solomon said : ‘ Be not a witness against thy 
neighbor without cause.’ Unless we have some good 
to say of people, it is usually better to say nothing 
about them. But come now,” continued Mrs. Clark, 
more cheerfully, “ you can apologize to Willy and his 
grandmother, and be more careful in the future. 
Arthur wants you all to come out to the swing and 
the croquet ground now ; and when I ring the bell, I 
wish you all to come into the dining-room. By the 
w’ay, where is Jenny ? I thought I saw her pass my 
window a little while ago.” 

It was now Lucy Bell’s turn to blush and look con- 
fused. 

“I am afraid she heard me say she was a story- 
teller,” she spoke out, frankly. ‘‘ She looked very 
angry and turned and went back toward home.” 

“ Well, Lucy,” answered Mrs. Clark, you, too, have 
found out that there is a time to keep silence as well 
as a time to speak. I think you have all learned a 
good lesson on the abuse of the tongue.” 

As the children went out into the garden, Mrs. 
Clark thought sadly of the extent of the evil which 
she had given her hand to assist in correcting, and sent 


The Talking Society. 


25 


up a prayer for a power stronger than her weakness. 
It was well ; she little knew the wrong that had been 
wrought already on that sunny Saturday afternoon. 

The children in Mrs. Clark’s grounds were soon en- 
joying themselves heartily, judging by the cheerful, 
laughing voices that were heard from time to time ; 
but Jenny King was angry and miserable, as from the 
attic window of her home, not far away, she watched 
the sport and thought of the treats that were to 
follow. 

As for Willy O’Connor, he went, not to his home, 
but to a quiet spot among the willows by the river- 
side, and gave vent to his feelings in a hearty fit of 
weeping. This was a habit which he seldom indulged 
in, considering it girlish, but to-day he was too 
wretched to restrain his tears. Willy’s mother was 
dead, and his father being addicted to strong drink, 
tlie boy’s grandmother was his best, almost his only, 
friend ; and to hear her spoken of in such a way was 
too much for his loyal love, apart from the morti- 
fication. 

“ I wish she was a boy, I do ; I’d give her such a 
hogging as she would remember,” he muttered. 

‘‘ O beat her anyhow. I’ll hold your hat,” said a 
laughing voice, and the corresponding face of Tom 
Howe peered through the willows. 

“ Go on about your business ? ” answered Will 
angrily. 

“ Well, then, I’ll help you to whip ’er. Will, since 


26 


Words and Ways. 


you are afraid to undertake the job alone,” persisted 
the tormenter. 

“ You know better than that, Tom Howe,” answered 
Will, dashing away the tears and clenching his fists. 
“ I wont strike a girl, but I am not afraid to whip 
any boy, and you will soon find it out ! ” 

“ O, I was only funning,” replied the intruder, 
good-naturedly, “ breaking the bone ” of his compan- 
ion’s anger with a “soft word,” and pushing his way 
through the willows. 

“What is the row, any way?” he asked. Will 
told his grievance, and Tom said, “ Pshaw ! who 
would care for any thing so ridiculous and unreasona- 
ble ? Every body knows that your grandmother is as 
good as gold. I wouldn’t care that,” snapping his 
fingers, contemptuously. 

Will felt comforted. Tom was but a rough boy, 
but he knew the art of saying pleasant words when he 
chose to do so. 

“ A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in 
pictures of silver.” Prov. xxv, 11. 

“ Pleasant words are as a honey-comb, sweet to the 
soul.” Prov. xvi, 24. 

Tom went on his way, and Will sat down again in 
the same spot, but feeling less unhappy, although he 
was at a loss how to give an account of his absence 
from the party without telling his grandmother the 
unkind remarks which had been made about her. 

He spent the afternoon wandering aimlessly about. 


The Talking Society. 


27 


instead of enjoying himself and getting good, as he 
might have done at Mrs. Clark’s ; while Jenny, in the 
dark attic among the dust and cobwebs, grew more 
and more unhappy, the longer she reflected on what 
she had heard. She felt that the words were not only 
unkind, but unjust, also, and her anger rose higher and 
higher. 

But this was not all the harm that the “unruly 
member ” had set on foot. 

“ The words of a tale-bearer are as wounds ; ” and 
of such persons the wuse man has said : “The begin- 
ning of the words of his mouth is foolishness : and 
the end of his talk is mischievous madness. Eccles. 
X, 13. 


28 


WoEDS AND Wats. 


CHAPTEE III. 

WILLY O’CONNOR’S REVENGE. 

“ Say not thou, I will recompense evil. . . . Say not, I will do so 
to him as he hath done to me.” — Prov. xx, 22 ; xxiv, 29. 

W HEN Willy O’Connor finally went home on 
the afternoon of the gathering at Mrs. Clark’s, 
his grandmother asked him how he had enjoyed him- 
self, just as he had feared she would do, and in his 
desire to avoid telling her his trouble, he was betrayed 
into the sin of falsehood. 

“ O, splendid,” he answered ; ‘‘ they .had cake and 
ice-cream and strawberries, and I can’t tell what 
all.” • 

‘‘ Strawberries ! ” echoed his grandmother, “ you 
must be dreaming, Willy, it is too late for strawberries, 
and what have you been crying about ? ” 

Willy fiushed guiltily. 

‘‘ O, I got into a little row with — with one of the 
— the girls,” he stammered, “ and I was mistaken 
about the strawberries; it was just cake and ice- 
cream.” 

Mrs. O’Connor looked troubled. She felt sure that 
Willy was trying to conceal something. 

‘‘ A row with one of the girls ? and at Mrs, Clark’s 
house, too ! I’m ashamed of you, Willy,” she said. 


Willy O’Connor’s Eevenge. 29 

“ O, I didn’t thrash her, grandmother,” assured 
Willy. 

“I should hope not,” answered the old lady. 
“ Can’t ySu tell me all about your trouble, my boy ? ” 

“ I don’t believe I can,” replied Will, his flushed 
cheeks getting still hotter ; “ but I was not to blame. 
Indeed, indeed, upon my honor, I was not ; I could 
take oath that — ” 

Softly, my boy,” interrupted his grandmother, 
‘‘you have said enough.” 

Willy was too much in the habit of multiplying 
words in the effort to prop up his statements, a habit 
which is very common, and is much to be deplored. 
A simple statement of the truth is usually all that is 
necessary. The multiplication of words has a tend- 
ency rather to weaken than to confirm belief, and the 
careless habit of appealing to Heaven for the truth of 
what we are saying is presumptuous and wicked. We 
are thus warned in the Bible : . 

“ Be not rash with thy mouth, and let not thy heart 
be hasty to utter any thing before God : for God is in 
heaven, and thou upon earth : therefore let thy words 
be few.” Eccles. v, 2. 

The next day was not a very happy Sabbath, and 
on Monday morning Willy went to school, feeling 
angry with himself that he “ had been obliged to tell 
a story,” as he said to himself, and harboring an un- 
comfortable suspicion that his grandmother had lost 
confidence in him. 


30 


Words and Ways. 


He began to think that it would have been better 
to tell the whole truth. On the way he overtook 
Jenny King, and she asked him about the party 
also. 

‘‘I didn’t stay,” answered Will, shortly; “I didn’t 
want to be mixed up with such a lying, tattling set, 
and so I came away.” 

Jenny discovered that she had met with a kindred 
spirit; so she related her grievance, and the two 
exchanged experiences and condoled with each 
other. 

‘‘ I am determined to pay Lucy Bell back for talk- 
ing so about me. I am bound to get even with her,” 
said Jenny, desperately. 

‘‘You are not going to fight her, are you ? ” asked 
Will. 

“Why, no,” answered Jenny; “it is only boys 
and dogs that fight.” 

Willy winced a little at the association. 

“But I’ll tell you,” continued Jenny, “Lydia 
Jennings says that Lucy has a key to the arithmetic, 
with the examples all worked out, and that is how 
she keeps her grade in arithmetic perfect. I am 
going to tell Miss Maxwell as sure as I am alive. 
Wouldn’t you ?” she asked. 

Kow Willy had been carefully taught the mean- 
ness of tale-bearing at school, and he hesitated for a 
moment. 

“I don’t know,” he answered; “Miss Maxwell 


Willy O’Connor’s Kevenge. 31 

doesn’t like to have us tell of each other. Maj be 
she will find it out herself, and cut down Lucy’s 
scholarship.” 

“Well, I’m determined to do something to pay 
her back,” answered Jenny, stoutly. 

Will O’Connor could not but sympathize with 
his companion in her wish to “get even” with one 
who had injured her. He was conscious of the same 
feeling in his own heart, and yet he knew that it was 
wrong. He had received a Scripture card a short 
time before, with the words: “See that none ren- 
der evil for evil unto any man ; but ever follow that 
which is good, both among yourselves, and to all 
men.” 

He put the text away out of his mind. There was 
Sally Hyde standing at the door, and the sight of the 
girl brought her offense up afresh. He fiushed an- 
grily, and, turning away, went to the other door. 

How Sally had fully made up her mind to apolo- 
gize for what she had said, and to inquire if his 
grandmother knew about the matter. She now 
fiushed in her turn, and went back into the school- 
room, very uncomfortable. At recess she saw Jenny 
King and Lucy Bell talking amicably together, and 
she knew that their difficulty had been adjusted. 
She determined to try again ; but Willy gave her no 
opportunity to speak to him. 

On going home at noon, Willy was startled to learn 
that Mrs. Clark had called, and had brought him 


32 


Words and Ways. 


some cake and an orange, saying that, owing to a 
misunderstanding, one of the girls had wounded his 
feelings, and lie had gone away before the refresh- 
ments were served. 

Willy could hardly swallow the cake, and his 
grandmother looked very sorry, and Willy went back 
to school angrier than ever both with himself and 
Sally Hyde. “ Behold, how great a matter a little 
fire kindleth!’’ He met Jack Kobinson at the gate, 
and Jack asked him : 

“How about that hide you was going to tan, 
Will?’’ 

Will told him to mind his own business, and Jack, 
who was fond of the foolish habit of punning, re- 
peated his remark to one of the other boys, and the 
laugh went round, and Will became as angry with 
all of them as he had been with Sally. 

An unkind remark, a few hastily spoken words, a 
rash act, a falsehood, remorse for that falsehood, 
anger, revengeful feelings, all following in one train ! 
Willy was usually a merry, fun-loving boy, and one 
of the first in the games which school-boys enjoy ; 
but now he stood apart by himself and scowled at 
the others. 

“ It was in a bad humor, so it was ! ” called out 
Jack, teasingly; and Will snatched up a stone and 
threw it with all his might at his tormenter. 

It was well that the missile did not strike Jack, or 
Will’s troubles might have been increased in a much 


Willy O’Connor’s Kevenge. 33 

larger ratio. As it was, a window was broken which 
he would be required to pay for. 

He was glad when the bell rang and all went to 
their places in the school-room. The history lesson 
was announced, and Will at once took out his book 
and began to study diligently, for the double purpose 
of learning his lesson and driving away unpleasant 
thoughts. 

The class was reviewing, and Miss Maxwell selected 
a portion each day from some part of the book, giving 
the pupils but little time for preparation, in order to 
test their memories on what they had previously 
committed. 

Having assigned the lesson. Miss Maxwell was en- 
gaged in hearing another class, when Sally Hyde 
came in. She was too late to hear the lesson given 
out, and Miss Maxwell did not permit her pupils to 
leave their places or to ask her any questions during 
recitations. 

What should she do ? The history class was next 
in order, and there was no time to be lost. Sally 
was one of the best scholars in the class, very rarely 
failing in any of her lessons, and Will had learned 
accidentally that her father had promised her a hand- 
some present if her report showed one hundred per 
cent, in scholarship. This thought flashed through his 
mind as Sally took out her book and looked across 
the aisle toward his desk. He was the only member 
of the class near enough to show her the place, and 
3 


34 : 


WoKDS AND Ways. 


he thought his time for revenge had come, as she 
whispered softly the question : 

“Whose administration is it, Will?” 

It was only necessary to turn the page a little to 
enable her to see the words, in clear capitals, “ Jef- 
feeson’s First Administration; but should he not 
rather turn the book the other way, and let her re- 
main in ignorance, and miss her lesson and her prize, 
as she deserved ? 

The boy hesitated but a moment. With that mad 
act of hurling the stone at Jack Robinson had come 
a revulsion of feeling. He felt glad and thankful 
that he had missed his aim and escaped the terrible 
consequences that might have followed. And now, 
as if in answer to this new temptation, came another 
text : “ Avenge not yourselves, but rather give place 
unto wrath. . . . Wherefore if thine enemy hunger, 
feed him ; if he thirst, give him drink.” 

Right conquered. He turned the leaf, and “e/^- 
fersorCs First Administration ” stood unvealed. 

Sally gave a little nod, and whispered, “ Thank 
you. Will,” and took her book to read over the 
lesson. 

It was but a little thing; yet the victory cost a 
struggle, and Will O’Connor came out of that strug- 
gle stronger and nobler for the effort. When it was 
over he felt that he could forgive the one who had 
wronged him. 

So true is it in such cases that cause seems some- 


Willy O’Connoe’s Eevenge. 35 

times to follow effect, and a kindly act toward an- 
other will produce kindly feelings. My reader, did 
j'Ou ever try the remedy of a deed of disinterested 
kindness for hard and revengeful feelings which you 
felt that it was your duty to subdue? 

If any one has done you an injury, and bitter 
thoughts are marring your happiness and prompting 
you to unchristlike conduct, take the Master’s ad- 
monition: “Do good to them that hate you,” and 
you will find, as in the case of the withered, helpless 
hand, which he commanded to be stretched forth, that 
strength and power are given, that the gift of healing 
comes with the effort to obey, and, better than all, 
you will find the blessedness of peace and forgiveness 
in your soul. 

It has been said that we hate those whom we have 
injured; and the wise man tells us that “A lying 
tongue hateth those that are afflicted by it,” and so, 
on the other hand, we learn to love those to whom 
we do good as we have opportunity. 

I do not think that Will O’Connor understood this 
very clearly, but he was conscious of the fact that, 
after performing that little act of good-will, he felt 
no further desire for revenge ; and when, at recess, 
Sally apologized for her remarks about his grand- 
mother, he was very ready to say : 

“ O, let it go ; it doesn’t matter. Grandmother 
never heard any thing about it, and that is all I care 
for” 


36 


Words and Ways. 


It turned out that Lucy Bell did not know that 
there were such books as arithmetical keys in exist- 
ence, and so Jenny King was spared not only the 
meanness of tale-telling, but the sin of bearing false 
witness against her neighbor. As for Lydia Jen- 
nings, we shall meet with her again in the course of 
our story. 




Robert White’s Prospects. 


37 


CHAPTER lY. 

ROBERT WHITE’S PROSPECTS. 

“In the multitude of words there wanteth not sin: but he that 
refraineth his lips is wise.” — Prov. x, 19. 

rpHE morning sun was not yet visible over the tops 
J. of the hills, but the gray light was stealing over 
the valley and the birds were getting in tune for their 
songs, when Robert White kindled the lire in the 
stove of the tiny kitchen at home, and then hurried 
down to the store to open the shutters and sweep. 
He was not very fond of early rising, and sometimes 
wished that he was rich, and might sleep as long as he 
chose ; but on this particular morning he had a fresh 
stimulus to effort. He expected the newly awakened 
day to prove a golden one in his life’s calendar, and 
he went down the street whistling merrily. 

Robert White had been errand-boy in Mr. Harvey’s 
store, earning a mere pittance ; but he was faithful in 
the discharge of his duties and improved his leisure 
time in preparing himself for something better. In 
due time it was discovered that he was quick at fig- 
ures and quite capable of standing behind the counter. 
Then he was promoted, with an increase of salary ; 
and though he still swept the store and made him- 


38 


WoEDs AND Ways. 


self useful in various other ways, Mr. Harvey had 
been heard to say that Kobert was a number-one 
salesman for his age. 

And now he was in anticipation of a still better 
position. Mr. English, a gentleman from the neigh- 
boring town of Everton, had talked with him about a 
clerkship in his store at that place, and he was hope- 
ful of getting it. 

The fact that the new situation would enable him 
to make his mother, sister, and aunt far more comfort- 
able than he had ever before been able to do, was a 
great inducement to make the change. Many were 
the golden visions of peace and plenty which the 
new prospect had conjured up. There were count- 
less comforts for his mother and Aunt Jerusha, 
educational advantages for Lily, and books for him- 
self, which he was hungry to read but had never been 
able to obtain. 

The salary which liad been named seemed to him a 
small fortune ; it could be made to compass so much. 
He was glad that the day for the decision had come. 
He had referred Mr. English to his present employer, 
and he doubted not that his recommendation would 
be all that would be needed. 

Eobert returned home for his breakfast in a pleas- 
urable flutter of expectation of which he was secretly 
a little ashamed, considering it rather weak and un- 
manly. 

‘‘Have you seen Mr. English asked his sister. 


Robeet White’s Peospects. 39 

“ Why no, Lil, it is not business hours yet,” an- 
swered Robert, with a little air of superior wisdom ; 
“ I doubt if the old gentleman is up yet. Good-bye 
to broom-handles and dusters after this week ! ” he 
added, gayly, as he proceeded to wash his hands in the 
tin basin just outside the kitchen door. 

“ It is high time,” responded Lily, as she brought 
him a fresh towel ; “ you deserve to get up higher on 
the ladder.” 

“ There is plenty of room at the top,” answered 
Robert, sagely quoting somebody. 

“ Despise not the day of small things,” came their 
mother’s quiet voice ; and the words threw a little 
shower over the enthusiasm of Robert and Lily. 

“ Why, mother, you believe in climbing up, don’t 
you ? ” asked Robert. 

“Certainly,” answered Mrs. White; “but do not 
set your hearts too much on the promotion until you 
are sure of it.” 

“O, I don’t think there is any doubt about it,” 
said Robert, confidently ; “ at least, not much doubt,” 
he added, more thoughtfully. “ Mr. Harvey is will- 
ing that I shall better myself if I can, and I am sure 
that he will speak a good word for me.” 

The ardor of the brother and sister had been damp- 
ened a little by their mother’s suggestion of pos- 
sible disappointment, but they soon recovered and 
began to discuss the future with the hopefulness of 
youth. 


40 


Words and Ways. 


“We will take a cottage, with four rooms and a 
nice garden place, and we shall keep a cow and have 
plenty of fresh milk and butter, and mother shall 
have all the flowers she wants ; and you, Lil, shall have 
the best of music teachers, and some day we shall 
hear of Lily White as we hear now of Jenny Lind.” 

Lily blushed with pleasure at the prospect which 
seemed not far ofl, and E-obert continued : 

“ And Aunt ’Kusha shall have — ” 

“ Don’t build any air-castles for Aunt ’Eusha, my 
dear boy,” interrupted a squeaky little voice, and 
presently a figure made its appearance which suited 
the voice exactly. A tiny old lady, not bigger than a 
child, with pink ribbons in her cap, and her white hair 
in little fluffy curls on her wrinkled forehead. 

“ O, but you must have a room in the castle, too. 
Aunt ’Eusha,” answered Eobert, good naturedly, as 
with one arm he lifted her into her chair at the 
breakfast table, and then proceeded to move chair and 
all a little nearer. 

“ Disappointment is the common lot of man,” pur- 
sued the old lady, with an air of great dignity. Then 
the voices hushed, and Mrs. White asked a bless- 
ing on the food of which they were about to par- 
take. After a brief silence at the close, Aunt ’Eusha 
went on : 

“ ‘ All is not gold that glitters,’ my children.” 

Lily’s pretty face took on a slight expression of 
impatience, but Eobert only laughed again. 


Egbert White’s Prospects. 41 

“Just wait, Aunt ’Eusha, till I get you a pair of 
gold-bowed spectacles ; and if they don’t glitter I’ll 
exchange them,” he said, banteringly. 

Aunt Jerusha’s lot in life had not been one of the 
happiest, and she had learned to look on the dark 
side, and to expect it, until she had come to consider 
it a virtue to do so. 

“ Ah, when you have lived in the world as long as 
I have,” she answered, “ you will not look for dia- 
monds among the pebbles, or for gold in the sand.” 

“ But I am not rummaging in the sand and peb- 
bles ; I am trying to do with my might what my 
hands have found to do ; and I expect success, and I 
feel that I have a right to expect it,” answered the 
boy, earnestly, but respectfully. 

The old lady shook her head as her nephew 
dropped another lump of sugar into her coffee-cup. 

“ Try to be hopeful, but not too confident,” said 
Mrs. White’s even tones. “ Whether you succeed 
in this instance or not, we must believe that it is all 
for the best, since our times are in God’s hands,” she 
added, reverently. 

So the subject of Eobert’s prospects was dropped, 
and the meal progressed almost in silence, for all 
were busy with their own thoughts. Lily was think- 
ing rebelliously that others confidently expected to 
receive the good things of life, and were not disap- 
pointed, while they must submissively make up their 
minds to something or nothing, as the case might be. 


42 


Words and Ways. 


She did not give utterance to these complaining 
thoughts, but she harbored them in her heart. 

Eobert was complacently recalling to mind the 
hearty commendation which he had received from 
Mr. Harvey, not long before, for his promptness and 
efficiency, and building his faith on the good name 
which he had earned. 

Aunt ’Eusha was walking among the memories of 
her dead past, and mentally recounting the graves of 
her hopes and plans ; while Mrs. White was ponder- 
ing the intricate problem of human experience, so 
puzzling to the young, and which none of us can 
ever fully understand until we pass into the clearer 
light of the higher life, and know even as we are 
known. 

“ ’Tis not in morals to command success, 

But we’ll do more, Sempronius : we’ll deserve it,” 

quoted Eobert to himself, as he shut the gate be- 
hind him with a sharp little click and went back to 
the store. There were but few customers at this 
early hour, and the place seemed more than usually 
quiet and dull. He had spoken to his sister of busi- 
ness hours, but before the clock had marked the hour 
of nine he had begun to feel restless and impatient. 

He liked Mr. Harvey, and had once thought that 
in getting his present position the lines had fallen to 
him in very pleasant places; but now the superior 
advantages of the prospective situation made this ap- 
pear very unsatisfactory. 


Robert White’s Prospects. 43 

Robert was deep in a calculation as to how many 
years with Mr. English it would take to save money 
enough to buy a little home, when a stranger came 
into the store and called for some trifling article, in 
payment for which he laid down a silver dollar. 
Robert took it up hastily and deposited it in the 
drawer, and then, as a lady made her appearance, 
counted out the balance quickly, and hurried away to 
attend to the wishes of the new customer. She called 
for “ jetted passamenterie,” and Robert, who was 
sometimes puzzled over the technicalities of fashion- 
able goods and trimmings, hesitated for a moment to 
collect his thoughts. 

“ See here, young fellow, you have cheated me in 
my change ? ” called out the man at the opposite 
counter. Robert flushed angrily. 

“ Excuse me for a moment, madam,” he managed 
to stammer, as he turned back to the other purchas- 
er. Counting over the pieces, he found that there 
was a deflcit of ten cents. It was humiliating to be 
accused of cheating ; besides, he felt certain that he 
had made no mistake. 

“ The dime has disappeared somewhere,” he said, 
shortly. “ Well, I guess we can afford to give you 
another,” and he smiled meaningly as he produced it. 

“ What do you mean ? ” demanded the man. Rob- 
ert gave him no answer, but went back to the place 
where the lady was waiting. 

I don’t think we have the article you called for,” 


u 


Words Am) Ways. 


he said, uncertainly. “ pan I show you something 
else?” 

The lady graciously consented, and called for differ- 
ent fabrics, which were taken from the shelves with 
ilacrity and piled upon the counter, to be turned over 
and laid aside one after another. 

Robert White was naturally impulsive and hasty, 
but he had cultivated the virtue of patience, and had 
schooled himself for his work until he was very rarely 
thrown off his guard ; and the man, who scowled at 
him as he passed out of the store, was the first who 
could have complained of Mr. Harvey’s clerk for 
either inaccuracy or discourtesy ; yet if he had trusted 
less to his own strength he would have been stronger. 
He smilingly laid aside one thing after another, and 
promptly produced whatever the lady wished to ex- 
amine, giving prices with great apparent good-humor. 
Her purchases were very limited compared with the 
quantities of goods which she had called for, and 
Robert was glad when she took her leave and gave 
him an opportunity to re-arrange the disordered 
shelves. 

The currents of our lives seem sometimes to be 
turned by very slight circumstances, just as the course 
of streams is directed by the little stones that lie in 
the beds of the rivulets. 

Mr. Harvey had risen late on this morning, and 
had grumbled over his coffee and cakes, at which, 
however, no one was greatly surprised, since this was 


Hobert White’s Prospects. 


45 


not uncommon. Mrs. Harvey had always a conven- 
ient scape-goat on which to lay her brother-in-law’s 
morning ill-humor, and always said : “ It is his dys- 
pepsia, my dears,” when her daughters grew restive 
over what they mentally styled ‘‘ Uncle Bupert’s 
breakfast bearishness.” 

There is no doubt that many of the short-comings 
which are excused by ourselves or our friends on the 
ground of nervousness, disordered digestion, and kin- 
dred causes, were better honestly laid to the credit, 
or rather discredit, of disordered tempers, impatience, 
and downright ill-humor. 

Mr. Harvey usually imbibed a degree of good- 
humor with his coffee, but this morning he had “ one 
of his bad spells,” as Kate said to her sister, and they 
were both heartily glad when he was gone. And so 
it came about that he went down to the store feeling 
irritable and out of sorts ” — another silly, palliative 
name for crossness. 

As he entered, a lady passed in just before him — 
the same one who had left a short time before. Bob- 
ert was high on the step-ladder, replacing a roll of 
cashmere which she had examined and inquired the 
price of. 

“ I called to return a silver dollar which your clerk 
gave me this morning,” she explained. “ Mr. Allen 
pronounces it counterfeit.” 

“ Any one could see that at a glance,” answered 
the merchant, without touching the coin as it lay on 


46 Words and Ways. 

the counter, and giving the lady another in its 
place. 

“ What does this mean, White ? ” he asked, sternly, 
as the customer withdrew. Robert did not answer 
for a moment. He was thinking of the man from 
whom he had received it, and who had added insult 
to injury, and was blaming himself in his angry hu- 
miliation more than Mr. Harvey could have done. 

When, a moment later, he descended and faced his 
employer, his usually pale face was flushed to the 
roots of his hair. It was not the blush of guilt, 
though it might easily be misconstrued thus by a 
casual looker-on. He fixed his eyes on the shining 
fraud for a moment, at a loss how to account for his 
carelessness, even to himself. 

“ I say, what have you to say for yourself ? ” re- 
peated Mr. Harvey, angrily. 

At this moment Robert heard a step behind him, 
and turned to see Mr. English lekurely approaching. 
His keen, dark eyes seemed to take in the situation at 
a glance — the tell-tale coin, the tell-tale blush, and the 
angry face of the merchant. He made a bow which 
seemed to include all three in his greeting, and walked 
into the office, accompanied by Mr. Harvey. 

The conference of the two gentlemen seemed a 
very long one to Robert, and, indeed, it did em- 
brace considerable time and various subjects of 
conversation, including railroad and mining, stock 
and foreign imports. Rut little was said of the boy. 


Robeet White’s Peospects. 47 

who waited in painful expectancy in the salesroom, 
trying to discharge his duties as if his fate were not 
hanging in the balance. 

At last Mr. English came out alone. He walked 
deliberately back and forth until Robert was at leis- 
ure, and then, in a few business-like words, informed 
him that he had made arrangements for supplying 
the vacant clerkship, of which he had spoken to him, 
and therefore should not need his services at present. 

Robert bowed, and then, with a polite good-morn- 
ing, the merchant turned and went out. Robert saw 
him pause for a moment on the step to consult his 
watch, and then turn down the street swinging his 
gold-headed cane. 

This, then, was the awakening from the dream 
which he had cherished so enthusiastically. This was 
the end of his hopes. He felt an insane desire to 
smash the show-cases and break the windows and 
then rush away, he cared not whither. 

These desperate thoughts were passing through his 
mind as he went hither and thither attending to his 
duties, and trying to appear as if nothing had hap- 
pened amiss. 

When his dinner hour arrived, and he turned his 
steps homeward, he could not realize that he had 
trodden the same way, a few hours before, cheerful 
and hopeful. It seemed a long-ago experience, the 
bright expectations of the morning and the chat over 
the breakfast table. 


48 


WoKDs AND Ways. 


“ Have you seen Mr. Englisli ? ” was Lily’s greeting, 
and the question made him more miserable. He told 
his story somehow, the bare facts of his disappoint- 
ment, and felt almost angry at the look of chastened 
submission on his mother’s face. But Aunt ’Rusha — 
Ah ! if she had half guessed how hard it was for him 
to bear his trouble, she surely would not have given 
utterance to those words which sound so exasperating 
to our ears when a calamity has overtaken us : 

“ I told you so! ” 

In the excess of his disappointment, it seemed to 
Robert at the moment like a cry of triumph. It 
seemed to him in his unreasoning misery as if his 
‘‘ little auntie,” as he often called her, had wished to 
have it so, and as if she were in some way the cause 
of his failure. 

“Well, you always hope for the worst, and you 
have proved a true prophet ! ” he answered, testily. 

“ Robert ! ” exclaimed his mother, reprovingly ; 
but the boy was ashamed of his hasty words before 
she had spoken. However, he helped his aunt into 
her chair in silence, and then said something in an 
aside to Lily about Micaiah, the son of Imlah, whom 
King Ahab hated because he never prophesied good, 
but always evil. 

That dinner was not a very cheerful meal, nor was 
there any great abundance of delicacies to tempt the 
mind from gloomy thoughts. At last it was over and 
as Robert turned despondently away, Mrs. White 


Kobeet White’s Peospects. 


49 


followed him to the door to say a few hopeful, con> 
soling words. 

“ Do not be discouraged, my son,” she said. “ It 
will prove to be all for the best. There may be a 
better opening in the store for you.” 

“ It doesn’t look much like it, mother ; I feel like 
giving up the ship,” answered Pobert, gloomily ; and 
so he went away. He could not bring himself to tell 
about the counterfeit coin, and explain how dark his 
prospects really appeared to him. He found it im- 
possible not to blame himself for being so absorbed 
with his own thoughts as to be so careless ; and he 
doubted not that upon this occurrence had hinged his 
failure. He felt that Mr. English had understood 
that his employer was charging him with dishonesty, 
and that this was the reason why he did not engage 
him. 

But Eobert was mistaken in his inference. The 
matter was decided against him before Mr. English 
had left his daughter’s house that morning ; the inci- 
dent of the counterfeit money only confirming a de- 
cision that was already made. 

4 


50 


WoEDS AED Ways. 


CHAPTEE Y. 

SILVER SPEECH AND GOLDEN SILENCE. 

“ Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh.” — Matt, 
xii, 34. 

“ Seest thou a man that is hasty in his words? there is more hope 
of a fool than of him.” — Prov. xxLx, 20. 

HE ability to converse with one another is one of 



X the distinguishing characteristics of the higher 
order of intelligences. The power of speech has not 
been conferred upon the brute creation. It belongs 
to men and angels. 

We are told in the BiWe that God sent those heav- 
enly messengers to communicate with his earthly 
children, and even talked with them himself. Does 
it not, then, seem the desecration of a holy thing, when 
the power of language is debased to unworthy uses, 
when words are spoken that are unkind, untrue, im- 
pure, or profane ? 

And then, again, how often we speak unwisely, 
even when we mean to do no harm. While we 
should cultivate the art of conversation as one of the 
good gifts of our heavenly Father, and try to use it 
for noble purposes, we should not forget to keep the 
door of our lips, and should bear in mind that the 
wise man has said : “ A fool’s voice is known by mul- 
titude of words.” 


Silver Speech and Golden Silence. 61 

Lily White went to school, on the day following 
the events of our last chapter, with a feeling of morti- 
fication mingled with her disappointment. She had 
unwisely informed her schoolmates of Robert’s ex- 
pected promotion, their intention of removing to 
Everton, and some other plans which it were better 
not to have divulged, at least until they were ma- 
tured. 

She had not spoken in a boastful spirit, but from a 
wish to confide in her friends and receive their good 
wishes in view of her bright prospects, Now those 
prospects had vanished like a mist of the morning, 
and what should she say ? She wished most heartily 
that she had been more discreet. Besides, she remem- 
bered now that there were some in the school who 
were like that one of whom the proverb says, “ There 
is that speaketh like the piercings of a sword,” and 
she dreaded to encounter the thrusting of their 
tongues. 

She walked very slowly that she might not reach 
the school-room until the ringing of the second bell ; 
but she had not far to go, and so failed to accomplish 
her object. She lingered for a little while in the 
cloak-room, and just as she was about to go to the 
school-room she heard voices in the passage. They 
came nearer, and she stepped behind the door to 
avoid an encounter with Lydia Jennings, who was one 
of the most formidable talkers whom she knew. 

The girls halted not far from Lily’s hiding-place, 


52 


Words and Ways. 


and slie heard Ljdia say, in a laughing tone : I 

wonder how soon the Whites will move to Everton ? ” 

‘‘Are they going to move?” asked Augusta 
Clark. 

“Why, didn’t you hear Lil’s big stories?” ques- 
tioned the first speaker. “ O yes, they were going to 
Everton, and Bob was to have a big situation, and Lil 
was to take music lessons, and wear bells on her 
fingers and bells on her toes, and O, I can’t tell you 
the half ! ” 

“Then keep to the facts and don’t embellish so 
highly,” said another voice. 

“Well, it turns out,” Lydia went on, “that they 
didn’t wait till their chickens hatched before bragging 
on them. Bob didn’t get the new place, and is, indeed, 
in a fair way to lose the old one. It was old Mr. 
French, or English, or whatever his name is, Mrs. 
Norton’s father, who was thinking of employing Bob ; 
but the old gentleman found out something and 
backed out.” 

“ I doubt whether he will be able to find a better 
clerk than Bob White,” answered Augusta, who, re- 
membering the society, was earnestly trying to culti- 
vate the grace of speaking well of others, and of 
defending the absent, as far as possible ; these being 
among the by-laws of the society. 

Lydia laughed in a disagreeable way. 

“You precious little ignoramus!” she exclaimed. 
“Why, Miss M’Pheters tells that he has been caught 


Silver Speech and Golden Silence. 53 

in the act of stealing money from Mr. Harvey’s cash- 
drawer.” 

“Miss MTheters!” echoed one of her listeners, 
increduously. 

“ Yes, Miss MTheters,” replied Lydia ; “ and you 
know that she would never hint such a thing if it 
were not absolutely certain. I had it from Octavia 
Horton herself, so, you see, it comes straight. Mrs. 
Horton told the old gentleman and put him on his 
guard. I reckon Mr. Harvey wishes that he had em- 
ployed a clerk who was honest, and I suppose Lil 
/White will not go to Germany immediately.” 

“ Did she say she was going to Germany ? ” asked 
one of the girls. 

“ O, no,” admitted Lydia ; “ but she could not learn 
much more about music in this country, and I suppose 
that was the next thing on the programme. I mean 
to ask her the next time I see her.” 

“ 0, Lydia, you couldn’t be so cruel ! ” answered 
Augusta, as the girls passed into the school-room. 

A moment later Lily White crept from behind the 
door and made her way down the stairs, crying bit- 
terly, and holding by the banisters as if she feared 
that she should fall. 

She met Kate Harvey on the landing, who, seeing 
her pale face, asked her if she was sick. She 
answered in the affirmative, but shrank from her 
schoolmate’s proffered ^ help, and went on her way 
alone. 


54 


WoEDS AND Ways. 


Lily White had always been a delicate girl, and no 
particular importance was attached to the incident 
when Kate came in and told Miss Maxwell. But 
Augusta Clark glanced, in a startled way, at Lydia 
Jennings, and whispered : 

“ I w^onder if she could have heard.” 

Lydia only made a grimace in return, and taking 
Kate aside, began an earnest conversation. Truth 
compels me to say that she was repeating the same 
pitifully unfeeling remarks to another listener, which 
had fallen so cruelly on poor Lily’s ears a short time 
before. 

But now the bell rang and the hum of voices ceased, 
and silence fell, like a blessing, on the little assembly, 
and then the duties of the day began. 

Kate Harvey found it impossible to settle herself 
comfortably to study. She was wondering uneasily 
whether the story she had just heard was a confirma- 
tion of what she had guessed to be the subject of 
conversation between her mother and Miss M’Pheters, 
or whether it was only an exaggerated edition of her 
own conjecture. 

She began to wish that she had said nothing about 
a matter of which she knew so little, and had been 
obliged to infer so much in order to make a striking 
bit of news, such as she loved to be the first to tell. 

Could it be possible that her thoughtless words had 
been the cause of Lily’s trouble and her brother’s 
disappointment and loss of good name ? The thought 


SiLVEE Speech and Golden Silence. 55 

was painful to her. She would have shrunk from the 
deliberate utterance of a falsehood, much more one 
that could injure the character of another ; but had 
she unwittingly done this in her eagerness ‘‘ to tell of 
some new thing ? ” 

Then she reflected, and I am afraid that she almost 
grasped at the hope that the story of Robert White’s 
dishonesty was true, and that the exposure had come 
through some other channel than her own thoughtless 
words. 

At recess she questioned Lydia Jennings as to how 
she had heard of the matter. 

“ Why, they say Miss M’Pheters told it,” answered 
Lydia, glibly. “ I heard it from Octavia Norton, and 
she said something about his getting into further 
trouble by passing counterfeit money. Ask your 
uncle all about it, Kate, and let us have the whole 
story,” she added, with the relish of those who are 
ready to roll a bit of scandal, like a sweet morsel, 
under their tongues. 

Kate answered “Well” to the proposition, but she 
instinctively shrank from the thought of mention- 
ing the subject at home. The belief would force it- 
self upon her that she was accountable for the trouble 
in the White family. 

True, she had said nothing about counterfeiting. 
Somebody else must have started that story, and she 
felt relieved at the thought. But the recollection of 
Lily’s pale, sad face would come between her and the 


56 


WoEDS AND Ways. 


page on whicli she tried to fix her attention, and it 
seemed to her that if her guilty fears should prove 
correct, that face would haunt her forever. 

At dinner she tried to force herself to ask her 
uncle about the charge of passing counterfeit money, 
but whenever she attempted to frame the question, the 
words seemed to stick in her throat. 

It was noticed by her friends that she was silent, 
a very unusual occurrence, and Della asked her if the 
new society prohibited talking entirely. 

She managed to parry the question in some way, 
and then her uncle said that perhaps she was making 
an effort to bring up past arrears. 

Kate blushed guiltily at this suggestion, and said 
nothing. She talked little and ate less, and wislied, 
O how fervently ! that she had sooner learned the 
value of silence. She tried to hope that Lily was 
only feeling a little unwell, and that she would return 
to school in the afternoon ; but she did not come. 
Day after day passed, and still her place remained 
vacant. 

At last the climax was added to Kate Harvey’s fear 
and remorse by hearing from that incorrigible news- 
monger, Lydia Jennings, that her Uncle Kupert had 
discharged Bob White. She could stand the suspense 
no longer. She would ask her uncle about the mat- 
ter, even at the risk of seeming to meddle in what 
did not concern her. She would embrace the first 
opportunity to learn the truth. 


Silver Speech and Golden Silence. 57 

The first opportunity was at breakfast, the most in- 
auspicious occasion that could offer. She knew that 
her uncle would be much more genial and communi- 
cative at dinner, but she said to herself that she could 
not wait ; she must know the truth, and, if possible, 
get rid of the painful spirit of unrest and suspicion 
which possessed her. 

“ Uncle Rupert, have you turned Bob White 
away ? ” 

She put the question abruptly, for she had not the 
patience to use any preliminaries. Her uncle did not 
answer for a moment, but stirred his coffee as though 
he had not heard. 

“Ho, I have not turned him away,” he said, pres- 
ently, and Kate’s spirits rose for a moment, only to 
sink again as he added : “ He has turned himself away 
without giving any reason for his freak. What do 
you think of that in your ‘ model boy ? ’ ” he contin- 
ued, addressing Mrs. Harvey. 

“ Perhaps he is disappointed that Mr. English did 
not engage him,” that lady suggested. 

“ That is no reason for quarreling with his bread 
and butter,” answered Mr. Harvey, impatiently. 

“ Did he steal or pass counterfeit money ? ” put in 
Kate, determined to get to the bottom of the matter, 
now that she had made the venture. 

Again there was a moment’s trying silence. 

“ Honsense ! ” replied her uncle, shortly ; “ the 
boy is as honest as I am. He mistook a spurious 


58 


WoEDS AND Ways. 


coin the other day for a good one, as experts have 
sometimes been known to do ; but that has nothing 
to do with the matter. I agreed to let him off to go 
with Mr. English, since he could do better by him 
than my business justifies me in doing. But Mr. 
English concluded to get a clerk in Everton. If he 
is moping over his disappointment, I imagine that 
hunger will bring him to a better mind ; but I have 
engaged Ned Jennings, who wanted the place when 
White got it before. Any thing else you would like 
to know, Kate ? ” 

Poor Kate ! her face flushed painfully. There was 
more that she would have liked to know, but which 
she feared that neither her Uncle Rupert nor any one 
else could assure her of. She would have liked to 
know that Robert White had not resigned his position 
in the store on account of the miserable stories that 
were in circulation. Slie would have liked to know 
that the blame of first setting on foot the wretched, 
growing slander did not lie at her door ? She fal- 
tered, “ No sir,’’ in answer to her uncle’s question, 
and presently asked to be excused. 

She went to her room and sat down to think the 
matter over. How she longed to confide her troubles 
to her mother, and ask for comfort and counsel ! 
How she wished that she had long ago tried to curb 
her propensity for talking too much, of which her 
mother had often warned her ! 

She almost wished that she had been bom one of 


Silver Speech and Golden Silence. 59 

the Hnfortnnates whom she had once visited with her 
uncle at an asylum for deaf-mutes. 

How much trouble we might spare ourselves and 
others if we would only consider the consequences of 
wrong-doing before committing the wrong, instead of 
waiting to be brought face to face with it when it 
seems to be hopelessly irremediable. If this girl of 
my story, who was made to suffer so keenly for her 
fault, had been possessed of a meek and quiet spirit, 
which in the sight of God is of great price ; if she 
had been humbly striving to copy the character of 
the great Example whose lips dropped loving words 
of invitation and instruction, she would have found 
it easier to correct her fault. 


60 


WoKDS AND Ways. 


CHAPTEE YL 

FOOLISH COUNSELORS. 

“ Every purpose is established by counsel.” — Prov. xx, 18. 

“ He shuttetli eyes to devise froward things : moving his lips 
he bringeth evil to pass.” — Prov. xvi, 30. 

H alf a dozen boys were congregated in a corner 
of the school-grounds, all talking at once.' 

“ Go in, Jack, and whip them all ; ” “1 can beat 
that ; ” “ Just wait till you hear from me,” and like 
expressions arose on the babel of sounds. 

“ Silence ! ” commanded another voice, and one of 
the larger boys, hoisted on the shoulders of two oth- 
ers, spoke as follows : 

“ See here, fellows, the three who can play the 
most and the best tricks between now and Thursday 
noon are to be pitcher, striker, and catcher, after 
drawing straws for the places. IS’ow, honor bright, 
boys ! No fibbing nor coloring.” 

“ Honor bright ! honor bright ! ” responded the 
chorus, and the boys dispersed. Some of these were 
members of the society for the reform of the tongue, 
but it did not seem to occur to them that this con- 
sultation for devising mischief was one phase of the 
evil which they had pledged themselves to try to cor- 
rect. It is true that the evil first arose in the 


Foolish Counseloes. 61 

thought, but it would far better have remained 
unspoken. 

“ Death and life are in the power of the tongue : 
and they that love it shall eat the fruit thereof.” 

Many other, better plans might have been adopted 
for deciding the question, as some of the boys after- 
ward acknowledged to themselves. 

An account of all the pranks that were played in 
Plainville in the next three days, as a result of this 
foolish compact, would consume too much space, so 
I shall notice but a few, some of which, as practical 
jokes too often do, entailed serious consequences. 

Jack Robinson was a good-natured boy of about 
ten years of age, full of fun, and fairly in his element 
when there was any thing like a joke on hand. 

I’ll begin with R'orah,” he said to himself, as he 
turned toward his home. He walked along slowly, 
seemingly in a deep study, a part of the way, and 
then he quickened his steps and hurried along, as if 
in great haste to do something to secure one of the 
three places of honor in the new ball club. 

On reaching home Jack went to the umbrella-stand, 
and then he turned around and took down his father’s 
overcoat and a hat from the rack. Just at this mo- 
ment a gentleman came out of the office, which was 
just across the hall, and a little later the doctor him- 
self made his appearance. 

He was evidently thinking of his patients, and he 
looked grave and pre-occupied as he came up to where 


62 Words and Ways. 

Jack was standing, and, taking the overcoat from his 
hand, said : 

“ Thank you, my boy, I will put it on. We are 
going to have a chilly, wet evening,” and, donning 
the overcoat and hat, he went out. 

Jack smiled a little to himself as his father disap- 
peared, and then began to whistle. Whatever the 
trick he contemplated, no opportunity for its execu- 
tion seemed to offer during the evening, and, after 
moving about restlessly for some time, he went up 
stairs and spent the evening writing to his mother, 
who was at the sea-side on account of her health. 

It rained heavily during the night, and the next 
morning was dull and damp ; and I*^orah was ‘‘ crosser 
than two sticks,” Jack said. He had disappeared di- 
rectly after breakfast, and she had not seen him since. 
She had an errand for him, and had been wishing to 
see him for an hour ; but Jack failed to make his 
appearance, as he often did when she ‘‘ preferred his 
room to his company,” as she expressed it ; and so 
she grumbled to herself after a fashion of her own. 

It was myself used to say that I could cook a po- 
tato before you could say Jack Hobinson. That was 
before I knew the bothering scamp who bears the 
name. As for the speaking of that same, it is easy 
enough yet, but to get the boy to come when he is 
called is quite another matter.” 

Horah Mulligan was given to soliloquizing, and 
when she was vexed about something Jack used to 


Foolish Counseloks. 


63 


say that she was quarreling with herself. On these 
occasions, however, it was frequently he with whom 
she was quarreling in a round-about way. 

“ Always around with his pranks when his room is 
wanted,” she went on. “ Most boys are content' with 
All-fools’-day, but as for Jack, they are all fools’ 
days, with him, and never at hand when he can be of 
any possible use. Jack Eobinson!” she concluded, 
giving the name a prolonged intonation that was 
quite at variance with the proverbial quickness of its 
utterance. She descended to the depths of the kitchen 
cellar, muttering as she went, and just as she re-ap- 
peared, the boy came in, looking innocent enough in 
spite of the hard things which had just been said of 
him. 

■ ‘‘ Eorah,” he began, before she had time to speak, 

‘‘ there’s a little fellow at the door who wants to see 
you. Eeal nice looking chap. He says his name is 
Michael Flanigan.” 

“And sure,” broke in Norah, “it can’t be the 
Michael Flanigan that I used to know, and who 
lives in the old country, for his name was Flaherty, 
and, besides, he’s been dead this many a year.” 

“ Well, you will think the fellow is alive enough 
when you see him,” answered Jack. “ But hurry up, 
Horah, and don’t keep him standing at the door ; it 
isn’t polite,” he added, as he darted out of the room 
and up stairs like a cat. The unusual occurrence of 
a visitor to Horah had quite driven out of her mind 


64 


WoKDS AND Ways. 


the errand for which she had wanted Jack. She 
stepped before the kitchen mirror and straightened 
her collar and wiped a little soot from the end of her 
nose. Having completed these little preparations, 
she made her way toward the front door. 

Michael Flanigan, as Jack had called him, seemed 
to be waiting patiently. It must be Mickey 
O’Leary,” said Horah to herself, as soon as she saw 
him ; “ he always wore a coat down to his heels, and 
the highest hat he could find, as if he were trying to 
make a tall man of himself.” 

Horah was very near-sighted; and the space be- 
t\^^een herself and the door seeming a considerable 
distance, she made the above remark in a very audi- 
ble tone. 

But Mickey, if it was he, did not seem to have 
heard or to have taken any offense, for as she ap- 
proached him he seemed to be holding out his hand. 

“And sure, Mickey, it is myself as was not ex- 
pecting the pleasure of seeing you,” she began. 

A moment later she had discovered that the sup- 
posed Mickey consisted of a couple of umbrellas, a 
walking-stick, an overcoat, a hat, and a pair of driving 
gloves. 

Her remarks on making this discovery would be 
difficult to record, so thickly interspersed were they 
with groans and exclamations of a peculiar kind, as 
she proceeded to demolish “ Mickey,” and put the 
overcoat and other articles in their proper places. 


Foolish Counseloes. 


65 


Meanwhile Jack, the sole witness of the scene, re- 
treated np stairs from the landing where he had been 
watching and listening, and lying down on the floor 
and holding his sides, he rolled about as if in a spasm 
of pain. 

Then he sprang up quickly and went dowm stairs 
slowly and noiselessly, peeping over the banister oc- 
casionally in a cautious way. 

Finding the coast clear, he slipped out of the front 
door, which Norah had closed, and ringing the bell, 
he awaited her answer to the summons, laughing to 
himself. When she made her appearance he asked : 

“ And sure, has a fellow named Lickey O’Meary 
been here to-day from the old country ? ” 

“ And it is myself will be after informing the doc- 
tor of your carryings on, and see if it is not a stop can 
be put to the same entirely,” answered JS^orah, turn- 
ing back in a towering rage and rapping at the doc- 
tor’s door to make knowm her grievance. 

The result of this appeal to the higher powers was 
the promise of a flogging for master Jack should the 
annoyance be continued ; and Norah went back to 
her dominion feeling- somewhat conciliated. It was 
not often that the doctor threatened Jack with a flog- 
ging, and, to tell the truth, it was not often that I^orah 
desired it, for she was fond of the boy, in spite of the 
trials to which he subjected her patience. But to-day 
the provocation had been unusually severe and she 

was not to be easily pacified. 

5 


66 


WoEDS AND Ways. 


Sure and I’ll make some lemon pies, since 
they are the doctor’s favorites, for that same prom- 
ise,” she said to herself, as she remembered it com- 
placently. 

Norah did not stop to reflect that they were Jack’s 
favorites also ; but such was the case, and if he had 
been consulted he would have chosen the risk of 
flogging together with lemon pie, rather than an 
absence of both. 

Norah’s anger passed away as she proceeded with 
her pastry making, and she was humming a merry 
tune when ting-a-ling came another summons to the 
front door. 

“ And sure the pies will be after spoiling if I leave 
them, and it is myself is certain it is that Jack again,” 
muttered Norah. 

She went and peeped through a key-hole, which 
gave her a view of the front door. The next moment 
she sped to the closet and shortly after emerged with 
a broom. Opening the door hastily, she rushed into 
the hall and sprang at the boy who was about to ring 
again, saying : 

“ And sure it’s the doctor himself as said he would 
flog you if he caught you at that trick again ; but the 
doctor has just stepped out for a moment, and 
besides it is myself as will paddle my own canoe as 
long as I can handle a broom.” 

Had the boy really been Jack, he would have 
sprung from the steps with a shout of laughter at 


Foolish Counselors. 67 

Norali’s anger and mixing of metaphors, and with a 
total absence of fear of the promised flogging. 

But it was not Jack. The boy did indeed spring 
down tlie steps, but with a frightened look in his eyes, 
as he hurried around the corner with all speed. 

In turning the corner, he ran plump against Jenny 
King, who was carrying a basket of eggs, and the 
ruin that resulted cannot be adequately described. 

“ Georgie Kelson, I wouldn't run over people if I 
were you ! ” exclaimed Jennie, impatiently, as, with 
crimson cheeks, she surveyed the wreck. It was not 
alone the wreck of a dozen of eggs, but of a prospect- 
ive cake and her attendance at the picnic to be held 
next week. 

Georgie stammered a brief apology which had 
something in it about “ the baby ” and ‘‘ trying to 
find another doctor,” and started across the street un- 
mindful of a team of horses that was coming at full 
speed. 

Korah, entirely ignorant of her mistake, returned 
to her kitchen, feeling somewhat like a general who 
has gained an important victory through some skill- 
ful, stragetical movement of his own. She little knew 
what important results hinged upon her masterly 
charge with the broom. 


68 


WoEDS AND Ways. 


CHAPTER YII. 

“ THAT BOTHERSOME BABY.” 

“ But I say unto you, That every idle word that men shall speak, 
they shall give account thereof in the day of judgment.” — Matt, 
xii, 36. 

G EORGIE HELSON was a careless, ease-loving 
boy, but in spite of bis tendency to selfishness, 
he had an afiectionate disposition, and he dearly loved 
the helpless little babe which had lately come to his 
home. The contemptuous remarks which he had 
made about his tiny sister would have made him very 
angry if they had come from some other boy. And 
now that the baby was seriously ill he would have 
relinquished all the fun of which boy life is supposed 
to have so much, could he thus have restored the 
little one to health and strength. 

Mr. Helson was absent from home, and much de- 
volved upon Georgie ; but for once he did not grum- 
ble over what he was asked to do. He stepped softly 
about the house, and went to the drug store or where- 
ever he was sent, and then, after promptly and will- 
ingly discharging his errands, returned and hurried 
back to the sick room to watch with his mother be- 
side the crib within which the little face was growing 
almost as white as the pillows. 


“That Bothersome Baby’’ 


69 


The rain pelted against the window panes with a 
mournful sound, and the clock seemed to tick out the 
seconds with a solemn meaning. 

“ Do you think she is any better ? ” asked Georgie, 
wistfully. 

“I’m afraid not,” answered his mother. “You 
would better go for the doctor again. He said that 
he did not think it would be necessary for him to 
call again, but that I must let him know if we needed 
him.” 

How Georgie was very anxious to call the doctor, 
and yet, contradictory as it may seem, he dreaded to 
see him. The truth was he had slyly attached an 
old paper collar by a pin-hook to the doctor’s coat- 
skirt, in the confusion of the crowd at the post-office, 
on the evening before ; and when the doctor dis- 
covered the trick, as he went swinging the appendage 
down the street, Georgie thought that he had looked 
back at him in a threatening manner. 

But there was no time to be lost, and he hurried 
away, resolved to face a cannon’s moufh, if need be, 
in order to get relief for the baby. 

The result of this call at Dr. Kobinson’s house 
my reader already knows. The time passed on and 
on, and there were only the mother and the baby, or 
the other occupant of the room was unseen and un- 
heard as he drew nigh, for it seemed as if he could 
not be far away, the death angel who garners alike 
the ripe grain and the budding flowers. 


70 


Words and Ways. 


It seemed to the anxious watcher that help must 
come soon, very soon to be of any avail. She rose 
every now and then and went to the window to look 
down the street, straining her eyes for a glimpse of 
the physician who seemed so slow to come. 

The clock ticked on and on, seeming to measure 
off the few remaining hours at most of the baby’s 
brief life, and still neither Georgie nor the doctor 
came. 

Several squares away, Georgie was lying on a 
lounge in a strange room to which he had been car- 
ried, while skillful hands were examining a cut on 
his forehead. 

“ Do not be frightened, my boy, the wound is not 
serious, I believe,” a gentleman was saying, ‘‘and 
you shall be taken home directly if you will tell us 
your name and where you live.” 

But the boy’s mind seemed to be wandering. 
There was a wild look in his eyes as he said : 

“ O doctor, hurry, hurry please ! I am so afraid 
the baby will die.” 

The hours passed, and busy life went on. The 
day drew near its close, and there were homes where 
the circles were complete, and peace and happiness 
reigned. And there were homes in which fear and 
doubt seemed struggling for the mastery of hope and 
faith. What would the morning bring ? 

The rain had ceased, and the sun was setting 
among the clouds of golden splendor. His farewell 


‘‘That Bothersome Baby.’^ 

rays were creeping up to the tops of the spires, and 
people who had homes were hurrying homeward. 

Dr. Kobinson, whose regular visits for the day 
were ended, rubbed his hands with satisfaction at 
the thought that his baby patient must be decidedly 
better, since he had not been called, according to 
agreement. Still, after all, he could not quite get 
the baby out of his mind. She was so much like a 
little one who had once been borne in a tiny, flower- 
wreathed casket from his own door. But there was 
Jack; the boy must be looked after, and receive at 
least a mental castigation, or Norah would be quite 
driven out of the house. 

So the doctor sat down to wait for Jack. He 
came in presently, whistling “The Sweet By-and- 
by.” He had, for the time, forgotten the joke 
which he had perpetrated on Horah a few hours 
before. Indeed, he had since played a number of 
others that were, to use his own expression, “ just 
jollj.” 

He had “ fooled ” several persons with a silver 
dollar tied to a string. He had dropped an old 
pocket-book stuffed full of brown paper, and had 
seen somebody pick it up and examine the contents 
eagerly, and then fling it spitefully into the gutter. 
He had tied up a brick-bat in as nice a square pack- 
age as the handiest salesman in the town could have 
done, and, placing it on the pavement, he had seen a 
hungry looking little girl snatch it up and dart into 


72 Wats aitd Words. 

an alley, as if in fear that some one might claim and 
take it from her. 

‘‘Come here, Jack,” said his father, kindly, but 
firmly. 

Jack came willingly, for he loved his father dearly, 
but he looked a little uneasy as the doctor, with a 
grave face, put an arm around him, and said nothing 
for several minutes. 

At last the boy asked, softly : 

“ What is it, please, papa ? Is mamma worse ? ” 

“Ko; mamma is much better, and will be home 
next week,” was the answer. “ It is you my boy ; I 
am quite troubled about your case. I hardly know 
what to prescribe for you.” 

“I? O, papa,” answered Jack; “I am very well, 
indeed, I assure you. I haven’t a pain nor an ache 
anywhere, and I don’t want to take any old rhubarb 
or other bitter stuff to spoil my supper, for I am as 
hungry as a wolf.” 

“Ah, Jack,” answered his father, “the sickest 
people sometimes imagine that they are in perfect 
health.” 

“But, papa,” said Jack, beginning to look serious, 
“ I haven’t been exposed to the small-pox or any 
thing, have I ? What is the matter with me ? ” 

“You have a disease that is worse than the small- 
pox,” replied the doctor, “ and you have it very bad. 
It is a very prevalent disorder, and seems in a measure 
to be contagious ; and yet no one need succumb to it 


“The Bothersome Baby.' 


73 


unless he chooses, as it is not infectious in the way that 
small-pox is. It is called ‘ The selfishness that takes 
pleasure in another’s pain, or the love of teasing.” 

“ O, papa ! ” answered Jack, laughing, “ you almost 
frightened me. I began to think that something 
very bad was the matter with me really.” 

“Something very bad is the matter with you 
really. I wish I could make you feel and under- 
stand how very bad it is,” was the answer. 

“O now, papa,” said Jack, coaxingly, “a fellow 
wants to have a little fun. I don’t hurt any body.” 

“ Do not be too sure of that,” answered his father. 
“Does it not hurt you when you are disappointed 
and foiled in your efforts and expectations ? And do 
you not know of a rule by which we may measure 
other people’s feelings as well as our own ? ” 

“You mean the golden rule,” said Jack, looking 
ashamed. 

“Just so. Jack, and how about that compact into 
which you entered with others to assist in correcting 
the abuse of language ? ” 

“I haven’t been using abusive language, papa!” 
answered Jack. 

“ I said the abuse of language,” corrected the doc- 
tor; “and I wish to inquire if your constitution 
permits ^falsehood? I think you told Norah that 
there was a little fellow at the door who wanted to 
see her.” 

“ O, papa, that was only a joke,” protested Jack. 


74 


Ways and Woeds. 


“Truth is truth, and an untruth is a falsehood,” 
answered Dr. Kobinson, firmly. “ That is the only 
point at which the line can be drawn. And again, 
how about your mimicry of Norah’s language? 
Is it quite kind or fair ? If you should attempt to 
speak the musical tongue of her native land, I doubt 
not the result would be far more laughable than her 
construction of English, fimny as it may sound to 
your ears.” 

Jack hung his head. 

“But practical jokes,” continued his father, often 
end in greater trouble than a transient provocation or 
disappointment. I will tell you a story which will 
help you to understand and to remember this. When 
1 was a boy about your age, I used to pass, on my 
way to school, the house of a German silversmith 
whom the boys delighted to tease. They used to 
laugh at and mimic his broken English, which was 
not only grossly rude, but very unkind. It made him 
very angry when the boys rapped at his door and 
then dodged round the corner that was near, to listen 
to the strange, funny mixture of English and German 
which he would pour forth on discovering that no 
one was there. 

“ One cold night we boys had deceived Mr. Hart- 
mann several times. I say we, for I am sorry to 
admit that I was among them. I would gladly give 
much to-day to be free from a share in the responsi- 
bility of what followed.” 


“ That Botheesome Baby.” 76 

“Would you give Hector and Juno?” asked Jack. 

“ Willingly, and many more such horses if I had 
them. At last Mr. Hartmann chased us round the 
corner and shook his fist at us, accompanying the 
threatening gesture with some remarks that sounded 
to us particularly funny. We laughed, and he went 
back to his fire and took ofi his snowy boots to warm 
his feet. Later in the evening there came another 
knock at his door. Mr. Hartmann was tired of 
opening to nobody, and he muttered a resolve to 
stay by the fire, wdiich he accordingly did. 

There was silence for awhile, and then he heard 
something strike against the door. 

“ A snow-ball from one of those young rascals ” he 
said to himself, and presently went to bed, little 
dreaming what it really was which had fallen against 
the door. 

“ There was a heavy fall of snow that night, and in 
the morning there was a strange looking drift on the 
silversmith’s door-step. When it was cleared away, 
there was a little girl, cold and stiff, with a face as 
white as the chilling covering which had fallen over 
it. It was she who had knocked the last time; it 
was she who had fallen against the door ; and if we 
had not tired Mr. Hartmann out with our tricks, he 
would have opened to the perishing wanderer and 
warmed and cared for her. 

“ He had the poor little waif decently buried, and 
the next time we boys came to his door, he followed 


76 


Words and Ways. 


us, and beckoning us near, told us the ^tory with 
tears in his kindly eyes. 

Mr. Hartmann died years ago, and the old silver- 
smith shop disappeared. Mrs. Helson lives there 
now, and I called at the house early this morning to 
see her sick baby ; but the sight of the place, much 
as it has changed, has never ceased to recall that one 
incident of my boyhood which of all others I would 
most gladly forget.” 

Doctor Kobinson was called out just as the story 
was concluded, and Jack heard the messenger say : 

“ I am afraid the child is dying. Mrs. Nelson sent 
Georgie for you some hours ago, and he has not 
returned yet. Have you seen him ? ” 

The doctor said he had not, and hurried away. 

Jack went up to his room slowly and thoughtfully, 
thinking of his father’s story, and taking out a dog’s- 
eared little diary, he wrote, in a large boyish hand, 
the date, and underneath it the words : 

“ Resolved to quit playing tricks.” 

Ah, if he had only yielded to advice and made his 
resolution a little sooner ! 

When he came down stairs he went out to see 
Norah, and at sight of her was strongly tempted to 
tease her again about Mickey O’Leary, but, remem- 
bering his father’s sad story and his own resolution, he 
forbore, and tried to make amends for his trick by 
one or two little services which Norah had often tried 
in vain to induce him to perform. 


‘‘That Botheesome Baby.’’ 


77 


“ Faith, and I wonder whether it is the flogging 
the doctor is going to give you, or the sight of me 
broom has made you so civil, Master Jack,” she said, 
laughing. 

“ Papa isn’t going to flog me, and I haven’t seen 
any thing of your old broom. What do you mean ?” 
retorted Jack. 

“ O, come now. Jack,” replied ISTorah, “don’t be 
after denying it at all. You did well to be ofl in a 
jiffy. If you hadn’t skipped down ^ the steps and 
round the corner when you did, you might have been 
laid up now with your bruises and broken bones.” 

“Honor bright, Horah,” said Jack, beginning to 
look uneasy; “ did you drive a boy off the steps with 
the broom.” 

“ Indeed and I did,” answered Horah, still laughing. 
“ Why need you be asking that same question ? ” 

“Upon my word, Horah, it wasn’t I,” said Jack, 
now thoroughly alarmed. “ It must have been some 
one after papa ! ” 

Jack knew well enough who that “some one” 
was ; but he could not bring himself to admit even 
to himself that it was Georgie Helson. 

Even short-sighted Horah saw that the boy was 
dreadfully disturbed ; and the kind-hearted soul, who 
could never bear to see Jack in trouble, notwithstand- 
ing the annoyance he often gave her, set to work 
forthwith to try to comfort him. 

“Never do ye mind, Jack,” she said. ‘‘I expect 


78 


WoEDs AND Ways. 


it was a boy after the doctor to pull a tooth for some 
old woman. She can wait awhile well enough ; the 
toothache never kills.” 

But Jack was wiser than she, and with the awful 
fear that his resolution had been made too late, he 
even turned away from the lemon pie with which 
E’orah further sought to console him ; and, going into 
his father’s office, sat down to await his return. 

Ah, it was such a tiny coffin, and the little sleeper’s 
face and hands looked as white as the petals of the 
lilies that were placed in the waxen fingers. It was 
so sad to think that the little one must be laid away 
in the damp, cold ground, away from the warmth 
and light, away from her mother’s arms, away from 
all sounds of life and gladness. Jack thought that he 
would have given worlds not to have seen the dead 
baby, but his father had said, sternly : 

“ Yes, I want you to see what you have done ; come 
with me to the house, the same one where I learned 
my sad lesson long ago.” 

Jack looked round mournfully for Georgie ; but he 
was not to be seen. What had become of him ? 

Then they shut down the lid of the little coffin, 
and it seemed to Jack that all gladness was shut out 
of his life. It seemed to him that his heart was too 
full of pain and remorse to endure. He felt as though 
he could not bear that the baby should be carried 
away. He felt a mad impulse to throw his arms 
around the casket and try to awaken the sleeper. 


“That Bothersome Baby.” 79 

“ Come, Jack,” said his father’s voice. He could 
not find strength to move or answer. 

“ Come, Jack.” The words were repeated ; and 
with a great effort he gasped : “ O papa, is the baby 
really dead, and Georgie, too ? ” 

“ Ho, Jack, I am thankful to say that they are both 
alive,” answered Doctor Bobinson’s voice. And Jack 
woke with a start to find himself in the big chair in 
the office where he had fallen asleep while waiting 
for his father’s late return. 

The recollection of his father’s story and the 
remembrance of his own little sister’s death, mingled 
with the fear and remorse which he felt, had combined 
to weave the dream which had seemed to him so 
real. 

I am glad to tell you that the baby and Georgie 
both recovered, and that Jack also recovered from 
the disease which Doctor Kobinson had pronounced 
“ worse than the small-pox.” 

Whenever he was threatened with an attack he had 
only to remember the day when his most successful 
trick had caused him so much pain. 

Two lessons had been learned, and two boys were 
thenceforth more careful of their speech and con- 
duct. Whatever may have been the success or fail- 
ure of the other competitors, neither Jack nor Georgie 
recounted his experience, nor was the latter ever 
again heard to allude to “ That bothersome baby.” 


80 


WoEDS AND Ways. 


CHAPTER YIII. 


THE SCATTERED THISTLE SEEDS. 

“By thy words thou shalt he justified, and by thy words thou 
shalt be condemned.” — Matt, xii, 3*7. 



EEKS passed by and Lily White did not re- 


» » turn to school. Robert was seen loafing at 
the corners, a habit which he had never before been 
known to indulge in ; and Mrs. Harvey spoke of the 
fact to her brother-in-law, and said that she hoped he 
would not fall into bad company and evil ways on 
account of being out of employment. 

Mrs. White did not even go to church in those 
dark days, and the thought of this was a source of 
new trouble to the girl, who now felt that she was to 
blanie for it all; but Miss ’Rusha seemed to have 
suddenly developed a very social spirit. Kate Harvey 
met her on the street repeatedly. She saw her once 
climbing np the steps of Mrs. Horton’s residence, and 
on another occasion she saw her little figure at Miss 
M’Pheters’s window as she was passing. 

All this was ominous of trouble, though Kate did 
not acknowledge the fact to herself. 

One morning she and Della were together in their 
room engaged upon some fancy work. Della was 
singing, as usual, for she was light-hearted and gay, 


The Scattered Thistle Seeds. 81 

and Kate had once enjoyed her sister’s gayety, but 
she had lately lost her relish for every thing. She 
was sitting silent, thinking — thinking of the White 
family, and asking herself, for perhaps the hundredth 
time, if she were really to blame for the trouble. She 
was beginning to indulge a very faint hope that she 
had blamed herself unnecessarily, as nobody had yet 
accused her of libel. 

Della paused in her song long enough to say : 

“ You would better take off your crimpers, Kate ; 
you look like a fright, or the six-horned, graceful 
lady,” she added, laughing. 

Della went on with her work and her singing, and 
Kate silently went to the mirror to arrange her hair. 
Her position gave her a view of the front gate, and 
she suddenly exclaimed, with a start : 

O Dell, there comes Mrs. Horton and Mrs. Clark ; 
and O,” she gasped, “ Miss ’Kusha and Miss 
M’Pheters ! ” 

‘‘Well, what of it?” inquired, Della, wonderingly ; 
“ you will not be obliged to entertain them. They 
have come to see about the new Sewing Society, I 
presume. How cute little Miss ’Kusha looks,” she 
continued, peeping over Kate’s shoulder; “she 
marches like a soldier going to battle.” 

Kate dropped the brush and turned to leave the 
room. 

“Where are you going? You have taken your 
hair down only on one side,” said Della ; but Kate did 
6 


82 


WoEDs AND Wats. 


not stop to reply. On reaching the hall she noise- 
lessly sped up stairs to the garret as if she were pur- 
sued. On reaching the room she looked about ea- 
gerly as if in search of something. 

“ I don’t like to get into the chest for fear of the 
fate of Genevra. O, there is the rag-barrel, that will 
do,” she said, in a frightened undertone ; and hastily 
mounting a small box, she seized the top of the bar- 
rel and was about to climb in, when the box turned 
over, and Kate, box, and barrel fell with a thump to 
the floor. 

Getting upon her feet she righted the barrel, re- 
placed the spilled contents hastily, and made a second 
attempt. A looker-on would have been astonished 
and amused, no doubt, at the scene that followed. 
Cowering down in the queer hiding-place, she piled 
the rags above and around her until she was entirely 
concealed. They were musty and dusty, and she felt 
like suffocating. Then she realized that a sneeze was 
pending, and in trying to suppress it, it burst forth 
with a sound that seemed to her loud enough to be 
heard on the ground-floor. 

A little later she heard some one coming up stairs. 
She listened breathlessly. Yes, it was Becky, and 
she inquired for Miss Kate.” 

I think she is up in the garret,” answered Della. 

The servant toiled up the steep stair- way and looked 
into the attic, but no Kate was to be seen, and she re- 
traced her steps, muttering to herself : 


The Scattered Thistle Seeds. 83 

When I was a girl I could sometimes be found 
when I was w^anted.” 

Again all was quiet for a time except for the sub- 
dued sound of Della’s voice, singing, “I’ll plant a 
rose upon thy grave.” But presently fat Becky 
mounted the stairs again, looking crosser than ever. 

“ Look here. Miss Della,” she said, “ that child is 
wanted in the parlor immediately. If you’ll find 
her. I’ll do up your rufiied, furbelowed muslins and 
lawns ever day in the week, if you want me.” 

“That is a bargain,” responded Della, laughing. 
“ I’ll find her : I heard her up in the garret awhile 
ago,” and, still singing her song, she went in search 
of the fugitive. 

She peered into the dark corners, and looked into 
the big chest, and then approached the barrel. AU 
was silent save the song refrain : 

“ I’ll plant a rose upon thy grave, 

To beautify the lonely scene.” 

“ Please don’t, Dell,” pleaded a muffled voice. 

“ Well, I don’t believe I will, since you have buried 
yourself in the rag-barrel,” answered the teasing sis- 
ter, mercilessly. 

“Pshaw! Dell, I mean don’t tell where I am,” 
pursued Kate, emerging from her covering and look- 
ing out with a very rueful face. 

“ O, I have done that already,” replied Della. 
“ Besides, mamma has sent for you twice and wants 


84 : Words and Ways. 

you right away. What upon earth induced you to 
hide yourself ? ” 

And then, as the funny, forlorn figure rose up and 
climbed out, Della sat down on the chest and laughed 
until the tears rolled down her cheeks. 

“ O dear, 0 dear ! ” she groaned ; “ it is too ridicu- 
lous ! ” 

But Kate’s face would not have worn a more solemn 
expression if she had just received the summons to 
her execution. As she made her way down stairs 
she was met at the door of her room by Becky, who 
said: 

‘‘ Here I have been leaving my work to hunt the 
house over for you, and your mother and ever so 
many more ladies waiting for you in the parlor! 
Now see if I lose sight of you again till I see you 
safe at the door.” 

True to her word, Becky marshaled her captive to 
the parlor door, and then gave her a little push as 
she entered. 

Poor Kate ! her feelings were not to be envied as 
she confronted that, to her, formidable array of faces. 
She had a terrible foreboding of the nature of the 
business to be transacted, and her appearance was in 
keeping with the state of her mind. A more sorry 
looking object could scarcely be conceived. A row 
of crimpers extended haK across her forehead, while 
the dark frizzed hair that covered the other side was 
plentifully besprinkled with lint and ravelings from 


The Scattered Thistle Seeds. 85 

the rags among which she had been hiding. Shreds 
and threads clung to her dress in various places, and 
a long, frayed piece of ruffling was festooned to one 
of the buttons on the back of her basque. This ap 
pendant ornament streamed fantastically behind her 
as she turned to find a chair after coming forward to 
greet the visitors. 

Mrs. Norton smiled involuntarily, but Miss ’Kusha 
White was in no mood for smiles. 

For a few minutes no one spoke, but Miss ’Kusha 
kept her little ungloved, wrinkled hands working 
nervously. Finally she said, looking severely at the 
trembJing culprit : 

‘‘ A very damaging story about Robert White is 
afioat in this gossiping community — a rumor of his 
having stolen money from his employer. I have been 
hunting it down for some time, and I have unmis- 
takably traced it back to you. Miss. Now, we should 
all like to hear what you know about the matter.” 

Poor Kate ! the eyes of every one in the room 
were fixed upon her. She almost wished for annihi- 
lation. What did she know about it ? What should 
she say ? She hesitated for a moment, and then took 
refuge in a side issue. 

“ I never said any thing about his passing counter- 
feit money,” she faltered. 

‘‘ Stealing, child ; stealing, I said ! Stick to the 
subject,” retorted Miss ’Rusha, rapping on the fioor 
with her umbrella. 


86 


WoEDs AND Ways. 


She looked like a little girl dressed as an old lady 
as she sat on a high chair, which she had managed 
somehow to reach, and which she had refused to ex- 
change for a lower one, with her feet a long way 
from the floor ; but to Kate the appearance of the 
tiny old lady was more terrible than that of a giant 
armed with sword and spear. 

“ My’ dear,” interposed Miss M’Pheters, “ it is said 
that you have stated that I charged Robert with dis- 
honesty, in a conversation with your mother. I trust 
that you can prove the report to be untrue.” 

“ I — I never said that you said so,” stammered 
Kate. only said you were talking low about 
something important, and I heard you mention Bob’s 
name, and I heard mamma say something about his 
poor mother, and that I guessed that was what you 
were talking about.” 

How preposterous it all sounded, even to her own 
ears ! 

“You guessed so! You guessed sol” repeated 
Miss ’Rusha, hopping down from her chair and walk- 
ing over to where the miserable girl sat trembling 
in every limb. “ And so you circulate a rumor and 
destroy the character of a fatherless boy with others 
dependent on him, and ruin his prospects and bring 
misery on his friends, because you happen to hear his 
name mentioned in a low tone in conversation, and 
guess that somebody is accusing him of stealing 1 ” 

Kate gasped, but she could not have spoken if 


The Scatteeed Thistle Seeds. 87 

she had had any thing to say, and Miss ’Ensha 
went on : 

“ Miss MTheters was telling your mother of the 
good character that Eobert had built up by honest 
industry and minding his own business^ and of the 
bright prospects before him; and she and your 
mother were rejoicing over his success, in a kind- 
ness of heart of which you, Miss, seem entirely des- 
titute.” 

“ O, Miss ’Eusha ! ” exclaimed Kate, bursting into 
tears, “ Miss M’Pheters, mamma, every body, forgive 
me. Indeed, I did not mean to be so bad and do such 
harm 1 I will go around and correct the rumor.” 

Miss ’Eusha interrupted her sharply : 

“ Child, child, did you ever hear of the woman who 
sowed a handful of winged thistle-seeds broadcast, 
and let the wind carry them far and wide, and how 
she afterward tried to gather them up again ? ” 

“ Do not be discouraged. Miss ’Eusha,” spoke up 
Mrs. Clark. “We will all join in the effort to clear 
up this unhappy affair, and I think that it can be 
done. Eobert’s character will only stand out the 
more spotless when the story has been contradicted, 
and, indeed, I do not think that it is widely known. 
Eest assured that every thing that can be done will be 
done.” 

Then Miss ’Eusha’s righteous indignation gave 
way to softer feelings, and she went and leaned her 
elbows on the chair where she had been sitting, and 


88 


Words and Ways. 


buried her face in her handkerchief. one had 
ever seen her give way to what she called “ such 
weakness ” before ; and if Eobert White could have 
known all that his aunt felt in that moment, he 
would have experienced a fresh remorse for having 
accused her of “ always hoping for the worst.” 

Alas, these unruly tongues ! 

To say that Mrs. Harvey was deeply pained would 
but feebly describe her feelings on learning of her 
daughter’s fault, and Kate’s consciousness of her 
mother’s pain added to her own. 

But if the girl had grievously erred, she strove 
most earnestly, in the face of shame and humiliation, 
to repair the evil she had done ; and, with the help 
of her friends, she so far succeeded that it was 
thought not one shadow of stain remained on the 
reputation of the injured one. 

The task of clearing up the affair was far from 
pleasant, but its effect was good. Hot only was Eob- 
ert’s good name restored, but it was instrumental in 
working a radical reform in Kate’s own character. 
She never forgot that ‘‘Whoso keepeth his mouth 
and his tongue keepeth his soul from trouble.” 

The White family did not leave Plainville, but 
Eobert was employed by Mr. Clark, and was in time 
enabled to do more for his mother, sister, and aunt 
than he had even planned to do before. 

Kor was the lesson entirely lost upon Octavia Hor- 
ton, although she still made an intimate associate of 


The Scattered Thistle Seeds. 89 

Lydia Jennings. As for Lydia, she still went on in 
the way which she had chosen ; but her spiteful gos- 
sip soon came to be regarded as unworthy of atten- 
tion, since it was generally known that her ill-natured 
remarks were usually prompted by feelings of per- 
sonal resentment. And so the foolish girl injured no 
one but herself. Such is the lot of those who say, 
‘‘ Our lips are our own. Who shall rule over us ? ” 


90 


Words and Ways. 


CHAPTER IX. 

FREE SPEECH. 

“ A tale-bearer revealeth secrets : but he that is of a faithful spirit 
concealeth the matter.” — Prov. xi, 13. 

“ A fool uttereth all his mind ; but a wise man keepeth it in till 
afterwards.” — Prov. xxix, 11. 

M AXY of the boys and girls of Plain ville were 
learning to obey the wise precept, ‘‘ Keep the 
door of thy lips ; ’’ and those who were looking to 
the state of the heart, that well-spring of speech, and 
seeking divine aid to enable them to overcome their 
faults, were making marked progress. 

There were some who scornfully refused to co- 
operate in the work of reform, and still went on in 
the old way. 

Lydia Jennings was one of these. She said that 
she had no intention of wearing a muzzle, or putting 
herself into a strait- jacket. I have told my reader 
that this mistaken girl had lost the respect of most 
of those who knew her by the unrestrained indul- 
gence of her tongue. She was, however, less blam- 
able than some others, her mother being dead, and 
her father absent from home the greater part of the 
time. 

Lydia and her brother knew little of conversation 


Free Speech. 


91 


except as a vehicle for gossip and news-telling, and, 
though it may be harmless and even well to talk of 
people, and every one can find something good to 
say of nearly all persons, still those whose talk is all 
of people and their affairs give their conversation a 
very narrow channel, and frequently degenerate into 
evil-speaking. You have seen that it was so in this 
instance. And when it became rumored that Lydia 
was soon to leave Plainville, there were few expres- 
sions of regret. 

It was understood that she was going to live with 
her father’s sisters, two maiden ladies who were very 
wealthy. 

Lydia had indulged in the same weakness for which 
she had so mercilessly criticised Lily White. There were 
few of her acquaintances who had not learned of her 
expectations ; few who had not learned of the splen- 
did, great house and beautiful grounds, the gardens 
and conservatories at “ The Maples,” which Lydia 
described in glowing terms, although she had never 
been there in her life. 

She was very much elated at the prospect, and felt 
so confident that she should go, that she quite lost 
sight of the fact that the arrangements had not yet 
been completed for the change which she considered 
so desirable, and that it might be her cousin Annie, 
instead of herself, who should be chosen to the happy 
lot of living at ‘‘ The Maples.” 

It was strange that she should not have exercised 


92 


WoEDS AND Ways. 


more discretion after the example of premature plan- 
ning and talking which had lately come to her knowl- 
edge. 

“ I wouldn’t feel too certain about it if I were 
you,” Ned said to her one evening when she was 
talking as usual of her brilliant prospects. “ May be 
it will be Annie.” 

“ Annie ! ” exclaimed Lydia, scornfully. “ Do you 
suppose they will take Annie when they can have 
me? Aunt Margaret was very much pleased with 
my music when she was here. I saw that plainly. 
Annie can neither sing nor play, and I am far ahead 
of Lily White.” 

“ Who is saying any thing about Lily White ? ” 
asked her brother, laughing. do believe you 
envy that girl her magnificent voice.” ^ 

“ Magnificent ! ” echoed Lydia, in a very disagree- 
able tone, and with her face marred by evil feelings. 
“ It is as shrill and sharp as a katydid’s ! I’d as soon 
hear somebody filing a saw !” 

O come now, Lyd,” persisted Ned, “ your voice 
will do pretty well, if it isn’t as good as Lily’s. I 
wouldn’t get so furious if I were you.” 

This remark was fuel to the flame of Lydia’s anger 
and envy. She answered, in a loud tone : 

‘T say it is a great deal better. It is clearer and 
has more compass and volume.” 

‘‘More compass and volume!” mimicked Ned. 
“Well, Professor Yollenstein, I must say you are a 


Free Speech. 


93 


better parrot than Lily, if you are not so good a 
singing bird.” With this parting thrust hTed left the 
room. 

“Mean, hateful, aggravating story-teller!” called 
out Lydia, as her brother went down the front steps. 
The words had barely left her lips when Mr. Henry 
and Judge Morris passed. Lydia knew that they 
must have heard her spiteful, unsisterly words, and a 
blush mounted to her very forehead at the thought. 

“ It is all the fault of that detestable boy,” she said 
to herself. “ I am glad he will not be the plague of 
my life much longer. When I go to “ The Maples ” 
I shall be appreciated and treated properly.” 

But, notwithstanding her self -justification, she was 
ashamed to look Mr. Henry in the face when she met 
him a few days afterward. Ah ! we should never use 
language that we should blush to have others hear! 

Lydia was beginning to feel that her tongue had 
gained her some discredit, and yet she made no 
proper effort to restrain it. She was glad that the 
time had almost come for her to leave Plainville. 

On the morning of her aunt’s expected arrival she 
went to her room to examine her wardrobe. She 
looked over her dresses and decided as to those she 
should wish to take away with her, and those which 
were to be left behind. 

“ I’ll take only my best ones, and give my old school 
dresses to Martha. Of course I shall have some fine 
new ones before long,” she said to herself. 


94 


Words and Ways. 


Martha came into the room not long afterward, 
and she proceeded to carry out her plan for getting 
rid of her old clothes. Then she emptied her drawers 
and proceeded to pack away a part of her wardrobe. 

‘‘I wish it was Aunt Margaret instead of Aunt 
Priscilla who is coming,” she said to the girl who 
stood looking on ; ‘‘I have never seen Aunt Pris, and 
I^ed says she is as stiff as starch. I suppose I shall 
go home with her when she returns. I wish I had a 
new dress to travel in. I expect I shall look very 
shabby by the side of the fine old lady. See what time 
it is, Martha, I must be at the depot when the nine 
o’clock train comes in.” 

The servant returned to say that it was half past 
eight. So Lydia sprang up from the carpet where 
she was sitting, and leaving various garments strewed 
around, started out to meet her aunt, calling on the 
way for Octavia I^orton. The two girls reached the 
depot before the train arrived, and took seats in the 
waiting room. Lydia was, as usual, talking eagerly, 
and as her language was not violently abusive, she 
was evidently unconcerned as to who should hear her. 
However, there was no one in the room except a 
rather plain looking old lady in a rusty alpaca and a 
bonnet that was neither poke, fanchon, nor capote. 

Lydia lowered her tone slightly to say, with a little 
grimace. 

What a love of a bonnet ! And that dress must 
be fresh from Worth’s,” 


Feee Speech. 


95 


“Hush, Lydia,” whispered her companion, “she 
might hear you.” 

“Ho matter,” was the careless rejoinder, “she 
doesn’t know who I am, and she's going to take the 
next train I suppose ; besides, I guess she is deaf any 
way ; she looks as if she might be.” 

Octavia was glad to notice that the subject of her 
companion’s rude remarks did not seem to have heard 
them. 

Lydia rattled on : 

“ By the way, speaking of talking. Plain ville is 
getting so prim and puritanical that one hardly dares 
say one’s soul is one’s own. I am sick and tired of so 
much mincing sentimentalism. I believe in free 
speech.” 

“ Is that what you said you were quarreling with 
Hed about ? ” asked Octavia. 

“ Ho, indeed,” was answered. “Hed was saying just 
the hatefulest things he could think of in the hate- 
fulest kind of a way. He even went so far as to 
insinuate that Aunt Margaret and Aunt Pris might 
choose Annie instead of me. The bare idea ! She’s 
a little goose, perfectly prim and proper, always knit- 
ting missionary socks and working for the heathen 
when she has a minute to spare; bah! We are not 
much alike, are we ? ” she concluded, laughing merrily 
and unrestrainedly, although others were now enter- 
ing the room. This freedom of demeanor has cast 
reproach on the name of American girls. 


96 


WoEDS AND Ways. 


“Well, you certainly do not work much for the 
heathen or anybody else,’’ answered Octavia. 

“ IS'o ; I was set apart for a higher lot in life,” re- 
plied Lydia. 

“ I suppose you will devote yourself to your aunts,” 
suggested her companion. 

“ Just wait till you hear from me ! ” laughed Lydia ; 
“ wont I help those two old maids to spend their fabu- 
lous wealth ? ” 

But I will not tax my reader’s feelings with any 
more of the conversation of this selfish, frivolous girl 
at present. Suflice it to say that the stream fiowed 
on uninterruptedly until the second train came in. 

There were only two passengers for Plainville. 
One was a troubled-looking young woman with a 
child in her arms and another clinging to her dress. 
The other was a handsomely dressed, middle-aged 
lady, wearing gold spectacles. 

Miss Priscilla Jennings without doubt, thought 
Lydia, as she went forward and said : 

“ You are my dear Aunt Priscilla, are you not? I 
am delighted to see you.” 

“Not at all, you have made a mistake,” was the 
astounding answer, and the richly attired lady in gold 
spectacles passed out. 

Octavia Norton laughed in spite of herself, and 
even the grim-looking old lady in the shabby bonnet 
smiled dryly. Lydia was much disappointed. 

“ Why can’t people speak the truth ? ” she said, 


Free Speech. 97 

impatiently. See if I come down here and wait 
half an hour again for nothing ! ” 

“ May be she will come to-morrow,” suggested Oc- 
tavia. 

“Well, let her come, and let her find her way as 
well as she can,” retorted Lydia, as the two went out 
just behind the old lady in the black alpaca, wLo 
turned down in the direction of the Plainville House, 

“I wonder who that antiquated old woman is?” 
continued Lydia, in an unguarded way. “ She has 
certainly come to the right place so long as it bears 
the name of Plainville.” 

With this poor little attempt at witticism, Lydia 
bade her companion good-bye, and went home, 

“ I guess you will not go to ‘ The Maples ? ’ ” said 
Hed, teasingly, when he came in to supper that 
evening. 

“I guess I shall,” retorted Lydia. “Papa said I 
might go whenever Aunt Margaret or Aunt Priscilla 
came for me.” 

“I don’t think they will come,” answered the 
brother, mysteriously. 

“ That is all you know about it,” replied Lydia ; 
“ and when I am gone I expect you will wish that 
you had not been so aggravating and mean.” 

“ I don’t think I shall pine away and die,” replied 
Hed. “By the way, Lyd, have you packed your 
trunks yet ? ” 

“ Partly,” replied his sister, defiantly. 

7 


98 


WoEDS AND Ways. 


!N^ed threw himself back iu his chair, and laughed 
loud and long, but his mirth called forth no questions 
or further remarks from Lydia. She had talked of 
going away until the idea had become firmly fixed in 
her mind. She returned to her room, and went on 
with the work of preparation for her expected jour- 
ney, saying to herself : 

“ She will be sure to come to-morrow.” 


The Decision. 


99 


CHAPTER X. 

THE DECISION. 

“ They speak vanity every one with his neighbor : with flattering 
lips and with a double heart do they speak.” — Psa. xii, 2. 

“Put away from thee a froward mouth, and perverse lips put far 
from thee.” — Prov. iv, 34. 

L ydia JEXXIXGS rose early on the following 
morning and looked at her half-tilled trunk with 
a little sinking of heart, as she remembered Xed’s 
words of the day before. Could it be that he had 
received a letter explaining why her aunt did not 
come? Could it be that Annie had been chosen 
after all ? But, then, Aunt Priscilla had promised to 
see both of the cousins before deciding, and surely 
she would not break her word. She might have 
been detained in some way; and, clinging to this 
hope, Lydia made her toilet and went down stairs. 

She did not spend a moment returning thanks for 
blessings or asking for the strength of which she 
stood so sorely in need. 

Hed, having finished his breakfast, was just leaving 
the room as she entered. 

“ Did you get a letter from Aunt Priscilla ? ” she 
forced herself to ask. 

Not I,” answered her brother. 


100 


Words and Ways. 


‘‘ IS’or Aunt Margaret ? ’’ 

Nor Aunt Margaret.” 

“ Nor any body ? ” 

“ Nor any body,” he answered, laughing. 

“ Then why do you think she will not come for 
me ? ” pursued Lydia. 

Just wait and you will find out, since you don’t 
believe that I am a true prophet,” was the reply. 

“ Y ou would be glad to have it so ! ” exclaimed 
Lydia, angrily. 

“Of course I do not want to lose my amiable 
sister,” Ned retorted, sarcastically; and so the war 
of words went on. Alas, that those bound by the 
tenderest of human ties should so often strive for 
the pitiful victory of the last and most tantalizing 
speech ! 

Ned passed out, and then turned back to ask : 

“Are you going to the depot this morning, 
Lydia ? ” 

“ Yes, I am ! ” answered the sister, defiantly ; and 
Ned replied : 

“ All right ; give my love to Aunt Pris if you see 
her, and don’t leave home without saying farewell to 
your disconsolate brother.” 

After Ned had gone, Lydia almost concluded not 
to go to the depot after all. Ned really seemed to 
know something which she did not. Perhaps he had 
received a telegram ; she had not thought of that. 
She went up stairs again when she had finished her 


The Decision. 


101 


breakfast, and picked up some of the garments that 
were piled upon chairs. Then she looked into the 
closets and noted the empty hooks from which she 
had taken the dresses which had been given to Martha. 
Had she been too hasty ? She thought of her biting, 
unfeeling words in reference to Lily White, and of 
the mortification that awaited her if her plans should 
fail, as Lily’s had done. 

Ho, she would not harbor the thought ; she would 
not give up yet. Taking out her hat and gloves, she 
prepared to go again to the depot. 

She did not call for Octavia this time. She felt, 
somehow, as if she would rather be alone, particularly 
if a new disappointment awaited her. 

Again the nine o’clock train came, and again she 
retraced her steps unaccompanied by Aunt Priscilla. 
What if Hed had written to her telling her not to 
come? If he had, she said to herself, she would 
never forgive him. She questioned him again at 
dinner, but got only short answers. He was fiushed 
and had sore throat and no appetite. Kemembering 
an attack of fever which he once had, Lydia began to 
think that perhaps it was not very sisterly and kind 
to wish to go away from home. If Hed should be 
very sick again she would be needed. She had 
elicited the praise of the physician for her careful 
nursing on the former occasion, and her brother had 
seemed very grateful to her on his recovery. She 
almost felt glad she was at home. 


102 


Words and Ways. 


There was really love between this brother and 
sister, but, alas ! how rarely they let it be seen. 

Lydia’s apprehensions were destined to be realized. 
When ]^ed came home again in the evening he was 
obliged to go at once to bed. His pulse was high, 
and his head and limbs were aching violently. 
Morning found him delirious. The doctor was 
called and a letter was sent to his father. 

Then followed days and nights of pain and watch- 
ing. Lydia again took her place as nurse, for good 
old Janet, however willing, would go to sleep in spite 
of all her efforts to keep awake ; and even Mr. Jen- 
nings, when he arrived, could only relieve his daugh- 
ter for a little while. It was Lydia who received 
the physician’s orders and reported the patient’s 
symptoms. It was she who administered the medicines 
and bathed his hot forehead from time to time. 

She forgot her late disappointment, or remembered 
it only to feel glad that it had come. One morning, 
when she was arranging the press in Hed’s room, his 
coat fell from the hook where it had been hastily 
hung on that evening which now seemed so long 
ago ; and in stooping to replace it, she found a letter 
which had fallen from the pocket. It was addressed 
to her, and bore the post-mark which told her that it 
was from her aunts. She conjectured the truth, that 
Hed in his pain had forgotten to give it to her, and, 
putting it in her pocket, she waited until she should 
have leisure to read it. 


The Decision. 


103 


^ed had known something, then. She looked at 
liim, but felt no anger toward him now as he tossed 
and moaned in the delirium of fever. She did not 
care much for the contents of the letter; she only 
cared that her brother should get well, and mentally 
resolved that if his life should be spared, she would 
be a better sister than she had been. 

Late that night, when ^ed was enjoying the first 
quiet sleep which he had known for weeks, and 
Lydia was sent to her room to rest herself, she 
opened her letter. It ran thus : 

My Dear Lydia : I have come to the conclusion 
that Annie will suit us best. I have learned that she 
is industrious, unselfish, and quiet, three very praise- 
worthy traits of character even in ‘ a little goose ! ’ 
There may be found ‘ old maids ’ who stand in need 
of some one to ‘ help them spend their fabulous 
wealth ; ’ but your Aunt Margaret and I are not of 
the number. Besides which, I may add, that loud 
girls who talk in public places for the ear of all who 
may chance to listen, are not quite to my taste, to say 
nothing of the battering lips and double heart which 
gave the affectionate greeting to one who was not 
“ Y our affectionate ‘ Aunt Pris,’ or 

the old lady in the ‘Worth dress’ and the ‘love of a 
bonnet.’ ” 

“P.S. — I took the early train in order to give myself 
a little more time.” 


104 : 


Words and Ways. 


Poor Lydia ! her face burned hot with blushes of 
shame as she read tlie above quotations from her 
foolish, unkind remarks. She could not have be- 
lieved that they would sound so disgusting until she 
read them, transcribed by another hand than her own. 

This letter was followed by another : 

“ My Dear Lydia : Your Aunt Priscilla, according 
to her promise to ITed, has written to you imme- 
diately on her return from Plain ville ; but before 
mailing I feel like adding a few lines to express my 
regret for your disappointment, if such it should 
prove to be. I should have been glad to see you ; 
but perhaps it is best that we should take Annie, as 
she has not the opportunity of making a happy home 
for others as you have. As to the meeting to which 
your Aunt Priscilla alludes, you cannot feel more 
unhappy about the affair than I. My dear child, I 
would gladly have spared you the pain and mortifica- 
tion which you now experience ; but I feel confident 
that when, by the grace of God, you have subdued 
your faults — from which none are free — and have 
developed into ‘ a perfect woman nobly planned,’ you 
will be thankful for the remedy which, I doubt not, 
will effect a cure. You are yet young, and have 
good quahties ; bring them forth to full maturity, 
and do not let your character be marred by any blem- 
ishes. With much love I remain 

“ Yours affectionately. Aunt Margaret.” 


The Decision. 


105 


If Lydia had flushed with shame and anger on 
reading the flrst letter, the second melted the last 
vestige of hardness which she was trying to cherish 
in her heart. 

Sitting down by the bed she buried her face in the 
pillows and wept long and bitterly. Her eyes were 
opened to see herself as she was seen by others. Good 
resolutions were awakened. She would try to justify 
her Aunt Margaret’s loving hopes. She would go 
to the Source of strength to which she had been 
directed. 

The days passed on, and Hed recovered slowly, 
and with the return of strength came the exacting, 

■ capricious moods with which invalids often try the 
patience of their nurses and friends. But Lydia 
seemed to have acquired new strength. She was 
equal to every emergency. She answered all her 
brother’s querulousness with gentleness, or else was 
silent. One day her father said to her : 

“It is a fortunate thing that your aunts did not 
take you away at once, Lydia. How soon do you 
think you must go to ‘ The Maples ? ’ ” he asked, a 
little sadly. 

“ I am not going at all, papa ; they don’t want me,” 
answered Lydia, blushing as she spoke, at the recol- 
lection of her fault and its exposure still fresh in her 
memory. 

“They don’t want you?” repeated her father. 
“ Well, Lydia, we want you — Hed and I ; and we 


106 


Words and Ways. 


shall both be very glad of the decision, if you are not 
too much disappointed. I am going into business at 
home soon, and I should have missed my daughter 
sadly if she had gone away.” 

‘‘ I shall not go away ; I don’t want to go. I want 
to stay with you and Ned,” answered Lydia, and then 
she went out of the room to hide her feelings. 

It would require too much space to recount the 
struggles of this girl, so full of faults, in over- 
coming the weaknesses "which beset her; but I am 
able to record that she at last emerged from the 
conflict a noble specimen of womanhood, erect and 
free ; not, indeed, in her own strength, but by 
constant watchfulness and dependence upon Him 
who is able to provide a way of escape from every 
temptation. 

My reader, have you contracted the habit of “much 
speaking ? ” And do you “ let your speech be always 
with grace, seasoned with salt” — the salt of wisdom 
and love ? Or have you fallen into the too-prevalent 
habit of those who speak vanity, who indulge in 
“loud and stubborn” language, and “who whet their 
tongue like a sword, and bend their bows to shoot 
their arrows, even bitter words ? ” 

Have you tried to tame your tongue and failed in 
your efforts ? Then know that the stronger the force 
of habit has become, the more need there is for con- 
stant, untiring effort to break away from its control. 
Let your resolve be that of the psalmist, “ I will take 


The Deoisiok. 107 

heed to my ways, that I sin not with my tongue.” 
Psa. xxxix, 1. 

A few foolish, hasty, or angry words may not seem 
of great importance ; hut if we would bear in mind 
that every word which we utter reaches the sacred ear 
of God, would we not choose our speech more care- 
fully? And let us not forget that this evil is one 
which grows at a fearful rate with its indulgence. 
Careless, half-perceptible exaggeration of the truth is 
only a specious form of falsehood. Heedless, slightly 
irreverent words are but the stepping-stones to pro- 
fanity, and we may not lose sight of the fact, that 
among the sins of the tongue is that sin of sins at 
thought of which the soul shrinks back with trem- 
bling horror, the sin which has no forgiveness, the 
unpardonable sin of blasphemy against the Holy 
Ghost ! 

Seek earnestly the help that cometh from above. 
Study the character of Jesus, who “ spake as never 
man spake.” Study “ the gracious words which pro- 
ceeded out of his mouth,” and strive to conform your 
life to his teaching, lifting up continually the prayer, 
“ Let the words of my mouth, and the meditation of 
my heart, be acceptable in thy sight, O Lord, my 
strength and my redeemer.” Psa. xix, 14. 

“ Jesus, Saviour, let me be 
Daily more and more like thee. 

Make me gentle, patient, meek, 

So that all the words I speak. 


108 


WoBDs AND Ways. 


Whether many, whether few, 

May be tender, kind, and true ; 

Words of praise, and words of prayer, 
Words to lighten heavy care, 

Words outspoken for the right. 

Words that lead the way to light, 
Words of warning bravely rung. 
Words of soothing sweetly sung, 
Words of love, and words of cheer, 
Such as thou art pleased to hear.” 


PART II. 


LIFE AT THE OLD RECTORY. 






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The Family Council. 


Ill 


CHAPTEE XI. 

THE FAMILY COUNCIL. 

“ It is better to trust in the Lord than to put confidence in 
man.” — Psa. cxviii, 8, 

A lthough the reformation in Plain ville was 
very marked, there was still much of the talk- 
ing evil remaining, and it produced effects which, 
like the dropping of a pebble into the ocean, made 
ever-widening circles, the extent of which no human 
wisdom could estimate. 

Habits long indulged are not corrected in a day ; 
and there were some who found that it was much 
easier to go on after the old fashion, than to guard 
the door of their lips with daily, hourly watchful- 
ness. 

One morning Burton Bell, in conversation with 
some of his acquaintances, made casual mention of 
the protracted absence of his Uncle Tom, and ex- 
pressed the fear that he was dead. How I cannot tell 
you just how it was, but the remark passed from 
mouth to mouth, and the careless omission of one 
word and the inadvertent introduction of another 
gave new meaning to the half -expressed fear; and, lo ! 
on the following week the “ Plain ville Argus ’’ con- 


112 • WoEDS Aj^D Ways. 

tained the announcemeDt of the death of Dr. Thomas 
Bell, with kind regrets. Little dreaming that the 
statement was built upon the foundation of his own 
words, Burton waited on the editor to learn partic- 
ulars. That gentleman, however, could give no defi- 
nite information, nothing further than the fact that 
one of the reporters had gleaned the item somewhere, 
and he supposed that it was authentic. 

There was sorrow among the boys and girls of the 
Bell family, and a copy of the paper was mailed to 
their father, who was absent from home. But this 
was not all. Miss Leah Grimes was sure she had 
heard Dr. Eobinson tell Mr. El wood that Mr. 
Philip Bell was quite broken up, and she repeated 
the fact promptly and frequently, coupled with the 
oft-quoted remark that ‘‘ misfortunes never come 
singly.” 

“ And such a helpless family,” she added ; “ there’s 
Charlie and Burton and Annette and Lucy and 
Eomaine and Alonzo — none of them able to manage 
for themselves, and their father away from home. 
Things look very strange, I must say.” 

ISTow the doctor had said ‘‘broken down” instead 
of “ broken up,” and the remark had reference to his 
health, and not to the condition of his financial affairs, 
as some thought. Such mistakes sometimes hinge on 
a slight variation. 

But whether the inferences drawn were true or 
untrue, results followed which influenced all the after 


The Family Council. 


113 


lives of the boys and girls who, despite Miss Grimes’s 
opinion to the contrary, proved capable of managing 
for themselves, whether wisely or unwisely remains 
to be seen. 

They were gathered in the family sitting-room, 
“ discussing the outlook,” as they said, these three 
boys and three girls, and judging by the expression 
of countenance worn by one of the boys and two of 
the girls, the “ outlook ” was not a very attractive 
one. 

“ l^ow see here, girls— I mean you too, Lon,” said 
Charlie, interrupting himself and laying a hand on the 
shoulder of the little fellow who was sopping his 
eyes with his wet handkerchief — “ what I want to 
say is this ; the credit of the Bell family is at stake. 
We have reached a crisis, as they say in the news- 
papers. If papa’s health had not obliged him to 
leave home for a little while, we might never have 
had an opportunity to show what kind of stuff we are 
made of.” 

“ Charlie Bell, I do believe you are glad of our 
misfortune ! ” exclaimed a hysterical voice. 

“ No, Lu, you don’t believe any thing of the 
kind,” answered her brother, coolly. “ You know I 
told old Sheriff Smith that papa didn’t owe Mr. 
Loveland a cent, only he was unable to prove the fact 
satisfactorily ; and you know that I kept him out of 
the house as long as I could. It’s no use talking 

about that. What we have to consider is what to do 
8 


114 WoKDS AND Ways. 

next. I suppose you all know that we must get out 
of here.” 

“ There’s the old house at Pleasant Hill,” suggested 
Burton, with a shrug of his shoulders, “ if the bats 
and owls and rats and mice don’t dispute possession 
with us.” 

O don’t let us go there ! I am afraid of bats and 
owls and things ! ” interposed one of the little girls. 

“How, Burt, what are you trying to scare the 
children for ? ” asked Annette; “ I don’t suppose there 
is a bat or an owl about the house ; and I have no 
doubt that we can make ourselves very comfortable 
there for awhile, at least until papa gets well and we 
come back here.” 

“Bravo for you, Het!” said Charlie. “How what 
is done must be done quickly, as somebody says, for 
the sheriff will not sleep always, though he is sound 
asleep for the night. What I propose is to be up and 
doing as soon as the moon sets us the example. Come 
on, Burt. Where is Fidelia ? ” 

“ Pottering about in the kitchen as usual, I suppose,” 
answered Burt. 

The faithful old servant was just in the act of 
taking from the oven the last of a dozen savory pies, 
which were temptinglj^ displayed on the table as the 
two boys entered. 

“ I thought I’d better do a little extra baking,” she 
explained. “If Mr. Smith, is going to be here 
long-” 


The Family Council. 


115 


“ Mr. Smith, indeed ! ” interrupted Cliarlie, in a very 
incautious tone. “ Fidelia, do yon know that Mr. 
Loveland is stealing, actually stealing papa’s property 
at the hands of that man in there ? ” jerking his head 
toward the room where the sheriff was asleep. 

Fidelia dropped the pie tin she was holding wffh a 
clatter that must have roused the sheriff if he had 
not been a very sound sleeper, and raised her hands 
in astonishment. 

“ I’ll tell you what we are going to do, and we 
want you to help us.” Charlie went on: “You 
know papa owns the old Rectory at Pleasant Hill. 
Well, we are going there to-night with as many of the 
things as we can take away. The sheriff hasn’t at- 
tached them yet ; he just got in and lay down, you 
know. O, if Uncle Tom were only here ! Why 
don’t you speak, Fidelia ? ” he asked, a little impa- 
tiently, as the servant stared at him in open-mouthed 
silence. 

“ I am going to in a minute,” she said, slowly ; and 
presently she did speak, and suggested the impossi- 
bility of removing the furniture in the carriage. “I’ll 
tell you, boys,” she said, “ I’ll stand by you while your 
father’s gone. I’ll run over and get brother Job and 
the boys to come with the wagon and haul the things 
which you will not need for awhile to the ware- 
house and store them away. He’ll do it careful. 
I’ve known Job all my life. How do you take the 
children to the Rectory, and by and by we will come 


116 WoEDS AND Ways. 

with enough furniture to set you up. Do you 
hear? ” 

‘‘ You’re a born general, Fidelia, ‘‘ exclaimed Bur- 
ton, delightedly. ‘‘ What time does the moon rise ? ” 

‘‘ I don’t know precisely, but I guess the almanac 
will tell,” answered Fidelia, in her deliberate way. 

I guess I’ll have time to boil a ham and get some- 
thing ready for those poor motherless dears to eat,” 
she said to herself, producing two big baskets which 
she placed conveniently near. “ I’ll put on the ham, 
and then I’ll go and see Job ; I can get him to bring 
some boxes. You just pack your trunks and leave 
the rest to me,” she called out, as the boys went out. 

Burton hunted in vain for an almanac. “ What is 
the reason one can never find a thing when he needs 
it ? ” he asked, impatiently. 

Because he doesn’t take proper care of it v/hen 
he has it,” answered Annette, laughing. “ O well, never 
mind, I know the moon doesn’t rise long before mid- 
night. I’ll get the children to bed as soon as possible, 
and then we will begin packing. Don’t say any thing 
about going to-night, or they will not sleep a wink.” 

The tearful little folks were soothed and petted by 
the loving older sister, and stupefied with weeping 
over the misfortune which their imaginations had 
clothed with unreal terrors, were scarcely able to keep 
awake long enough for their prayers. With good- 
night kisses they were tucked in, and their troubles 
were all forgotten for the time. 


The Family Council. 


117 


Then the trunks werO brought in and packed, and 
the furniture was wrapped by hands that were shaking 
with excitement ; for liowever coolly the older children 
might talk of the “ hegira,” as Charlie called it, the 
hurried preparations in the silent night, with “ the 
enemy ” sleeping under the same roof, gave a weirdness 
to the proceeding, the effect of wdiich was felt by all. 

At last every thing was done that could be done. 
Even Swift and Fancy stood harnessed to the car- 
riage. Annette was very tired, but too much excited 
to rest. Job and his assistants were moving in and 
out of the house as noiselessly as possible, and Mr. 
Smith slept on ; at least Burton reported him as snor- 
. ing when from time to time he listened at his door. 

Annette went out on the piazza where her brothers 
were watching for the moon. “ I wish I felt quite 
sure that we are doing right, boys,” she said, wistfully. 

“ I^onsense, Mettie ! Of course we are doing right,” 
answered Charlie. “ Do you think we ought to allow 
papa to be plundered while he is away? It is bad 
enough to give up the house, but w^e can’t help that.” 

“ But are we not resisting the officers of the law ? ” 
persisted Annette. 

“ Mo, we are not,” answered Burton. The old 
gentleman is taking his nap, and we are taking our 
traps. Do be reasonable, sis. The whole thing is a 
piece of rascality. I heard papa talking to Judge 
Morris about Mr. Loveland, and telling him about 
something which he could prove by Uncle Tom. 


118 WoKDS AND Ways. 

Now that Uncle Tom is dead, that old sheriff has been 
set on us.” 

“We might have consulted Judge Morris,” said 
Annette. 

“O, yes, so we might,” answered Charlie. “He 
would have rested his elbows on the arms of his 
chair and placed the tips of his fingers nicely together 
and said : ‘ H’m ! Ah ! well, I will call around some- 
time to-morrow and see what can be done.’ ” 

“ It is growing lighter,” announced Burton. “ The 
moon is not far off. Better get the children up, 
Annette. I’d have started in the dark if I’d only 
been sure of the road ; and it will be light now be- 
fore we come to the forks and the bad places by the 
railroad.” 

Annette said no more, but went up stairs to rouse 
up the sleepers. Lucy was soon crying again, but she 
managed to dress herself without much assistance 
until it came to buttoning her shoes, and then the 
tears blinded her eyes so that she could do nothing. 

“ Why did you wake me so early ? ” she demanded, 
petulantly. “We are not going to be turned out in 
the night are we ? ” 

Then little Bomie set up a cry that Annette felt 
sure must have reached the ears of Mr. Smith, and 
called forth all her efforts to quiet. 

“ I should think you might be a little more of a 
woman, Lucy,” she said, severely. She at last suc- 
ceeded in quieting and dressing Eomie, with Burton’s 


The Family Council. 11 0 

voice calling out in a cautious undertone from the foot 
of the stairs : 

“ Hurry up, Nettie, the moon is up and the carriage 
is waiting!” 

But when she came to Lonnie, then her troubles 
seemed to begin in earnest. The little fellow was 
sleeping so soundly that neither shaking, calling, nor 
lifting upon his feet had the power to arouse him. 

“ Hurry up. Net,” came Burton’s voice again. 

“Wake up, Lonnie, wake up ! ” the sister said, des- 
perately, in the little boy’s ear ; but Lonnie sank down 
in a limp heap on the floor, and tucked his chubby 
fists under his chin. 

What was to be done? 

“No time to lose now,” came the voice from the 
hall below. Annette was tired and nervous and 
ready to cry with vexation. She went to the head of 
the stairs. 

“You will have to come up and wake Lonnie; I 
can do nothing with him,” she called down. 

“ Sh-sh, not so loud,” was answered, as Burton 
came up with long leaps. The moon was now peep- 
ing in at the windows and looking like a great eye 
that had come to spy out their nocturnal proceedings. 

“ Lonnie, wake up quick ; we are going to take a 
ride. Steady now, stand up till I dress you,” Burton 
said, placing the child upon his feet. But it was of 
no use. The little white-robed form dropped down 
and curled itself up like a kitten. 


120 


Words and Ways. 


“ He sleeps like tlie slierifiF, doesn’t lie ? ” said 
Burton, laughing. “ I say, Annette, get a blanket and 
we’ll wrap him up well and dress him after we get 
there.” 

The blanket was brought, and rolling the sleeper 
up snugly. Burton carried him off, calling back : 

‘‘ How make haste, girls, and we will be off at once.” 

‘‘ Bring Lonnie’s clothes, Lucy ; they are hanging 
on the chair by the window,” Annette said, as with 
shawls and a traveling bag in one hand and leading 
Bomie with the other, she followed, trying to feel 
like a Spartan matron and not succeeding to her 
own satisfaction. Lucy dropped the buttoner on the 
floor, and making a dive at the little garments hang- 
ing on the chair, hurried after her sister as fast as her 
unbuttoned boot would permit. 

The night was beautifully clear, and the moonlight 
fell like a mantle of peace over every thing out of 
doors. Looking into the house, it showed the de- 
serted rooms in their disorder, the empty beds from 
which the little ones had just been roused, and the 
chair by the window, on which lay one little pair of 
trousers. 

The whole affair had possessed something of the 
nature of an exciting adventure, not without its 
touch of enjoyment, for both Charlie and Burton ; but 
now that they were about to turn their faces away 
from the home endeared to them by memories of 
their mother, and by all the pleasant associations of 


The Family Council. 


121 


early childhood, their feelings underwent a change. 
Their eyes turned back and lingered on the house and 
grounds with a look of tender regret. 

They had spoken of coming back, but who could tell 
if that might ever be ? It seemed to them, in that 
parting moment, as if they were indeed, losing forever 
something out of their lives which they had failed to 
prize as it deserved. 

They were going to an untried experience. Their 
lives hitherto had been guarded from the rough and 
thorny phases of existence, as well as from its mire 
and defilement ; but what had the future in store for 
them ? 

They drove quietly down the silent street with its 
darkened houses ; past the church where they had 
heard the. word of life ever since they could remem- 
ber ; past the cemetery at the outskirts of the town 
where the remains of their mother rested. Another 
backward glance and the town and the old home was 
left behind with the past, and the new home and the 
untried future was before them. 

And had one of these boys or girls asked for the 
guidance of Heaven ? Had one of them run into the 
strong tower and fortress of God’s protection ? Alas W 
how often we forget that “Our times are in his 
hand.” 


122 


Words and Ways. 


CHAPTEK XII. 

“ THE HEGIRA.” 

“ 0 Lord, I know that the way of man is not in himself: it is not 
in man that walketh to direct his steps.” — Jer. x, 23. 

T here was silence for a time, broken only by the 
sound of the horses’ feet on the smooth road. 
The occupants of the carriage were busy with their 
own thoughts. Charlie was the first to rally. He 
was a bold, confident boy, and such misgivings as he 
might have harbored in regard to the wisdom of the 
step they were taking were concealed in his own 
mind. 

“I say, folks,” he began, “this is something like 
seeing life. It savors a little of some of the escapades 
of kings and queens with their courts from places of 
danger.” 

“ I expect the Plain ville people will think it savors 
a little of the escapades of criminals, runaways, sneak- 
ing ofi in the dark,” answered Burton, laughing. 

^ This was looking at the matter from a point of 
view that was altogether different ; but Charlie would 
not admit that it had any weight with him. 

“ Xonsense ! ” he exclaimed, confidently. 

“Xobody will think of such a thing. We have 
taken away nothing that does not belong to us.” 


“The HegikaJ 


123 


“ Every one will not know tliat,” answered Burton, 
more from a desire to keep up the argument than 
from any other reason. 

“Well, let them think what they please,” replied 
his brother, stoutly. “ So long as my conscience is 
clear I don’t care a straw what people think or say.” 

“ I am sorry the Clarks were away from home ; I 
should have liked to see them before leaving,” said 
Annette. 

“ Did you bring White-foot ? ” piped Bomie’s voice, 
suddenly breaking into the conversation. The two 
brothers looked at each other in dismay. White- 
foot, the Maltese kitten, papa’s last gift to Bomie, and 
Solon, the Newfoundland dog, the pride and defender 
of the household, both left behind ! 

“ Ah, well,” said Burton, at length, “ Solon is sure 
to follow us, and we can get White-foot another time. 
Fidelia will bring her, I expect.” 

“ But Solon is fastened up in his kennel. I shut 
him in to keep him from bothering about in the way, 
and waking up the sheriff,” he added, as if thinking 
it well to assign plenty of reasons for his course. 

“ Fidelia will never think of him, and old Mr. 
Loveland shall not have him if I am obliged to carry 
him away on my back.” 

Charlie drew the reins, and the carriage was 
brought to a stand-still. 

‘ There is only one thing to be done, and that is 
to go back,” he said. 


124 Words and Ways. 

“ O dear ! I am afraid the sheriff will get us,” 
wailed Lucy. 

Her brother made no answer, but, driving the car- 
riage to the side of tlie road, leaped out, and proceed- 
ing to unharness Fancy, jumped on her back and was 
off like a ranger, calling back to the others : 

“ I’ll be with you again before you have missed 
me.” 

Past the outlying fields and gardens he flew, urg- 
ing the mare forward with hands and feet, past the 
orchards and meadows, past the cemetery on the hill, 
with its white monuments pointing heavenward and 
looking pure and peaceful in the moonlight, down 
the silent street, back to the old home. How strange 
it seemed, how like a wild dream ! The loss of sleep 
and the excitement of the past few hours were be- 
ginning to tell on the boy, and in the relaxation he 
was losing his confident boldness and enjoyment in 
the “ escapade.” Halting at the gate, he stole into 
the grounds of his late home, “ like^ a thief in the 
night,” he said to himself, remembering his brother’s 
words. The house was dark and seemingly deserted. 
The other party was absent at the warehouse, he sup- 
posed. He opened the hall-door softly, and made his 
way, by the light of the moon, first to the kitchen, 
where he thought it most probable that White-foot 
would be found. But he searched in vain. The kit- 
ten was not there. He went from room to room, and 
tills his search was fruitless. 


The Hegiea.” 


125 


“ What has become of that provoking cat ? ” he 
asked himself, in desperation. Then he went to the 
door of the room where the sheriff was sleeping. 
The snores of which Burton had spoken reached his 
ear at regular intervals. White-foot might be in that 
room, but Charlie feared to open the door “ lest he 
might disturb Mr. Smith’s rest,” he said to himself, 
with a grim smile. 

So he went up stairs. How weird and ghostly it 
seemed in the silence and the moonlight ! Charlie 
was not a foolish or superstitious boy, but he felt a 
little nervous as he hunted about the deserted apart- 
ments ; and when he heard a door open and shut, and 
saw a tall white figure come out of the opposite room 
and go noiselessly along the hall to the back cham- 
ber, he started and held his breath. 

Just at this moment he heard a sleepy mew, and 
turned to see the object of his search curled up cozily 
on a chair with the little blue trousers for a bed. It 
was the work of an instant to seize the kitten, and 
not much more to make his way down stairs, though 
noiselessly, for he thought to himself that, ghost or 
no ghost, it was well to be as quiet as possible. 

Short as the distance was down the staircase and 
through the hall, it seemed a trying journey to the 
startled boy, and he felt more and more like one 
walking in a dream. But once out in the open air, 
with the bright moonlight over every thing, he felt 
disposed to call himself a dtince for his fright. It 


126 


Words and Ways. 


was, in all probability, Mr. Loveland himself “ come 
to look at his new plunder,” he said. Hurrying out 
to the kennel he opened the door, and one short, low 
whistle to the dog brought out the great, black, splen- 
did-looking fellow, who, indeed, seemed worth coming 
back after. 

Charlie was soon mounted again, and, if he had 
ridden like a Texan ranger before, he made still 
faster time on his return. Again he passed the city 
of the dead, but this time he scarcely thought of it ; 
the delay encountered seemed like a nightmare, and 
he longed to end it. 

Clutching White-foot at the risk of strangulation, 
he urged Fancy to her utmost speed, and Solon fol- 
lowed close behind, perhaps pondering the meaning 
of the queer proceeding in his wise black head. 

At last the carriage appeared in sight, and if Char- 
lie was eager to be on the journey, those whose part 
it had been to wait were impatient almost beyond en- 
durance. 

What in the world kept you so long ? ” asked a 
chorus of voices. 

O, I had to hunt the house over for that cat,” 
answered Charles ; “ but I went and came like the 
express. How we’ll be off again.” 

The kitten was duly welcomed by Komie, and Solon 
by all. The harness was soon readjusted, and the 
boys sprang into their places. 

“Lucy,” said Annette, “you will be obliged to 


“ The Hegiba.” 


127 


get out and sit with Charlie and Burt, and make room 
for Lonnie to lie down. He is so heavy, and he 
sleeps like a log.” 

“ How does a log sleep ? ” asked Charlie. 

“ Like the sheriff, is better,” suggested Burton. 

Lucy climbed out grumblingly, and gave a little 
cry of distress as Burton gave her his hand and pulled 
her up. Charlie touched the horses sharply, and 
away they dashed. Lucy continued to whimper, but 
she had whimpered so much that no one noticed her 
particularly for a while. Then Burton asked : 

“ Whatever is the matter, Lu ? Did I hurt your 
wrist ? ” 

“ H-n-n-o-o-o,” sobbed Lucy. “ I i-i-toldjou that I 
had lost my shoe ! ” 

“ Lost your shoe ! ” echoed her brother. “ Where ?” 

“ Back there in the road,” whined Lucy. 

“ O well, let it go. Some poor child will find it 
who needs a shoe more than you do,” said Charlie. 

Lucy did not seem to derive much comfort from 
her brother’s logic, and continued to groan. 

On and on they went, past farm-houses and cottages, 
with lawns and gardens, through stretches of wood- 
land, where the moonbeams fell slantingly between 
the trunks of the big trees, and the shadows lurked 
darkly among the hollows by the road-side. Then out 
again into the clear moonlight, where the road wound, 
like a brown ribbon, in and out among the hills, till 
it was lost from sight. 


128 


WoEDs AND Ways. 


“ I say, I am getting sleepy. I wonder what time 
it is ? ” said Burton. 

“ O, it is early, not more than two or three,” 
laughed Charlie. 

“ Look here, old fellow, it will not do for you to 
go to sleep, I depend on you as guide. You have 
been to Pleasant Hill, you know, and I never have.” 

“ O, it has been so long that I don’t remember 
much about it,” answered Burton. “ Better just give 
the horses their heads, and let them take their own 
way.” 

“ Were they ever there ? ” asked Charlie. 

“ No, not that 1 know of ; but horses have instinct, 
you know.” 

“Yes, and boys are said to have reason and com- 
mon sense, but they don’t always prove it,” said 
Charlie, laughing in spite of the dilemma. 

“ Burt, I’m ashamed of you ! ” 

But Burton, oblivious of all brotherly mortification 
on his account, was nodding in his seat. 

“ If you go to sleep and fall out you will be left to 
share the fate of Lucy’s shoe,” continued Charlie, 
unwisely. 

“ O dear, whatever shall I do, and how shall I get 
along, without my shoe ? ” put in Lucy, thus freshly 
reminded of her loss. 

“ Pshaw ! let it go. You have another pair, I sup- 
pose ; besides, there are stores at Pleasant Hill,” said 
Charlie. 


^‘The Hegika.” 


129 


‘^But what am I to do when we get there, and 
I have to get out of the carriage ? ” argued Lucy, in- 
quiringly. 

‘‘ O, Burt and I can carry you, or you can jump 
out and hop into the house like a lame robin.” 

“ I think you are just the meanest boy ! ” protested 
Lucy, laughing in spite of herself. 

“ How are you all back there ? ” continued Charlie, 
addressing the occupants of the back seat. 

“ Bomie, Lonnie, and White-foot are all in the land 
of Hod, and I was about half-way there when you 
spoke,” answered Annette. 

Charlie had fully recovered from his fright at see- 
ing the unknown visitor to the room but lately occu- 
pied by Burton and himself, and, feeling that the 
time, the lonely road, and the moonlight would make 
good accessories to an uncanny tale, he concluded to 
wake the children up, as he said to himself, with a 
ghost story. 

‘‘ Did you see any body at the house when you went 
back ? ” asked Annette, as if reading his thoughts. 

“ Well, I rather think I did,” answered Charlie, 
impressively. 

“ Whom did you see ? ” asked his sister. 

‘‘Don’t ask me to talk about it!” replied the 
thoughtless boy, with a little shudder. “ I never was 
so frightened in my life. But I’ll confess I did see 
somebody, or something, come out of papa’s room and 

go back to our room,” 

9 


130 


Words and Ways. 


“ Somebody or something ? ” echoed Annette, in a 
startled voice. 

‘‘ Yes, I couldn’t see the face, though I saw the 
figure distinctly in the moonlight,” and he gave an- 
other shiver. 

“ How did it look ? ” asked Lucy, breathlessly. 

“ It was tall, very tall and white.” 

“ O, Charlie ! ” exclaimed Lucy, evidently wide 
awake and as much terrified as her brother could 
wish. Do you think it was a — ” 

‘‘Honsense,” replied Charlie, now beginning to feel 
ashamed of the part he was playing. “ I presume it 
was Mr. Loveland.” 

“But Mr. Loveland is short and fat, I saw him 
when he came to our house before papa went away,” 
objected Annette. 

“ Well, then, it was somebody else. Of course it 
wasn’t a ghost, you foolish children,” continued the 
boy, reproaching his sisters for having received the 
very impression which he had aimed to produce. 
“ Don’t you go to taking up the idea that the house 
is haunted, or you will never want to live there again,” 
he concluded, sagely. 

Burton had heard the whole story, between two of 
his brief naps, but felt too sleepy to msike any re- 
marks, and the whole party again relapsed into silence. 
The moonlight at last faded imperceptibly into the 
dim light of early morning, and Charlie was glad to 
note the change, hoping soon to see some one of whom 


“The Hegira.” 


131 


he might inquire the way. But now mile after mile 
was passed without seeing the sign of a human habi- 
tation. 

At last the sun looked over the hill-top and showed 
the heavy-eyed group of boys and girls, who but lately 
had wished to see no one, now looking anxiously be- 
fore them for a house or some token of Hfe. 

“ I don’t believe any body lives in this region of 
country,” said Burton, rubbing his eyes and looking 
about him. 

But a little later a turn in the road brought them 
the welcome sight of a pleasant looking farm-house, 
near which an old man was feeding cattle in the 
barn-yard. 

“ Good morning, sir,” said Charlie, “ can you tell 
me how far it is to Pleasant Hill ? ” 

“Well,” answered the person addressed, “if you 
keep on in the direction you are going now, it’s about 
twenty-five thousand miles. I believe that’s the dis- 
tance of the earth’s circumference — eh ? ” 

“ How, father, please don’t ! ” exclaimed a woman’s 
voice, and a little old lady, with a motherly face, rose 
up from a milking-stool on the other side of the big, 
white cow. 

“ My dear, you made the wrong turn at the Cross- 
ing,” she said, “ butn ever mind, you look tired, and 
you shall come in and have some breakfast, and father 
will feed your horses. Just drive up to the house.” 

And the old lady started briskly in the same direc- 


132 


WoKDs AND Ways. 


tion, as if the idea of her invitation being declined 
had never entered her head. 

The horses were tired and hungry, and so were 
some, at least, of the occupants of the carriage. The 
old lady came bustling out to the gate to meet them 
as they drew up. • 

“ Why, children, children ! ’’ she said, in a surprised, 
pitying way, as she scanned the faces one after an- 
other, “ Where are your parents, my dears ? ” 

“ Papa has gone to the sea-side for his health,” an- 
swered Annette. 

“ Mamma is dead,” added little Komie, softly. 

“ Ah, poor dears ! Give me the baby and come 
right in.” 

The baby ” proved to be somewhat heavier than 
was anticipated, but the kind hostess folded him in 
her motherly arms, still wrapped in the blanket. 

‘‘We were obliged to start in the night, and we 
couldn’t get him awake, so we just wrapped him 
up and brought his clothes along,” explained An- 
nette. 

“ Exactly,” answered the old lady, smiling into the 
dewy eyes that were just opening to look about curi- 
ously. 

They all alighted from the carriage, except Annette 
and Lucy. The former was hunting fussily about 
among the robes and cushions. At last she said : 
“Lucy, pray what have you done with Lonnie’s 
pants ? ” 


I 


“ The Hegira.” 133 

‘‘ I haven’t done any thing with them,” answered 
Lucy. 

“ That is true,” spoke up Charlie. “ I saw those 
pants on the chair by Lonnie’s bed when I went back 
after White-foot.” 

“ Wliy did you not bring them ? ” asked Annette, 
in an annoyed way. 

“ Why, seeing the gh — , I mean looking for Solon 
and the kitten and every thing made me forget,” 
stammered Charlie. 

“ Why don’t you let me help you out, Lucy ? ” he 
added, changing the subject. 

The blame of having left the trousers was thus in a 
measure shifted from Lucy’s shoulders, and she felt 
relieved by the fact, but she had still enough to bear ; 
that shoeless foot which every body seemed to have 
forgotten but herself. 

“ I’ll just sit in the carriage. I don’t care for any 
breakfast,” she said. 

“ O come in, my dear, and warm yourself anyway ; 
the morning is chilly,” responded the old lady. 

“ I am not very cold,” protested Lucy, shivering. 

“ O, I know,” said Burton, suddenly remembering ; 
“she has lost one of her shoes. Never mind, Lu, 
people sometimes go barefooted in the summer time, 
and you are not nearly so destitute as Lonnie,” he 
added, laughing. And pulling Lucy out of the car- 
riage, he carried her up to the house and placed her 
on the piazza just before an elegantly dressed young 


134 


WoKDs AND Ways. 


gentleman and lady, summer boarders of Mrs. Per- 
kins’s. Poor Lucy I 

“ ITever mind, my child,” said the old lady, reading 
her distress in her face. “ We are all in'our stocking 
feet sometimes. Come right into my room, all of you.” 

The party filed in past the summer boarders, and 
were soon as comfortable as kind hands could make 
them. Then the busy hostess bustled away and pres- 
ently returned with a little bundle and a slipper for 
Lucy. 

‘‘ I am afraid it will not fit you very well, but it 
will keep your foot ofi of the fioor,” she said, apolo- 
getically. Then untying the bundle and unfolding 
several papers, she produced a little pair of trousers, 
saying : 

“ And now, my little man, we will see what can be 
done for you.” 

They were of no modern pattern, and showed signs 
of having been worn at the knees. The old lady’s 
wrinkled hands smoothed them over her lap caress- 
ingly as she said : 

He used to wear them, my little boy who went to 
heaven twenty years ago.” She looked at them wist- 
fully for a moment, still patting and smoothing 
them, and then handed them to Annette. ' 

The young girl thanked her and proceeded to dress 
Lonnie, who was still staring wonderingly at his new- 
found friend. The little trousers were very wide and 
full, reaching to the wearer’s feet, and when Lucy 


“ The Hegira.” 135 

saw her little brother in his new costnme, she forgot 
her own trouble for a moment, and exclaimed : 

“ O Het, he can’t wear those things ! He looks 
like a fright,” and she laughed outright. 

A little shadow of pain passed over the face of 
Mrs. Perkins for an instant. Komie joined in Lucy’s 
laughter, much to Annette’s shame and mortification. 
As the two younger girls continued to giggle, An- 
nette tried to reprove them and to express her thanks 
for Mrs. Perkins’s kindness. The disinterested hostess 
seemed to have forgotten the careless remark, and also 
to be unconscious of the laughing. She was looking 
earnestly at Lonnie with a wistful, yearning expres- 
sion in her kind blue eyes, thinking of the little boy 
who went to heaven twenty years before. 

Mrs. Perkins turned away to see about breakfast, 
and Annette placed Lonnie in a chair, and witli a 
frowning face turned upon Lucy and Komie, went 
out to the pump where the boys were washing. 

“ See here, Charlie and Burt,” she said, kindly and 
earnestly, “ whatever you do, don’t you dare to laugh 
when you see Lonnie.” 

“ O, he doesn’t care much for being caught abroad 
in his night-dress,” said Burton, indifferently. “ He 
isn’t so sensitive as Lu. Poor Lu!” he added, 
laughing. 

“You don’t understand,” replied Annette. “The 
lady has given him a pair of very long and very wide 
pants. He does look funny in them ; but don’t laugh 


136 


WoEDS AND "Ways. 


if you choke to keep from it. They were her little 
boy’s, aud he is dead, and 1 wont have her feelings 
hurt. Now, mind,” she added, warmly, as she turned 
back to the house. 

Lonnie had just made the discovery of the unusual 
style of his dress, and called out, ‘‘ I want my own 
pants,” as Annette came in. The sister tried in vain 
to divert his attention. The laughter that bubbled 
up from Lucy and Romie whenever he forgot his 
trouble for a moment, and walked to the door or win- 
dow, brought him back to himself and the perplexing 
problem of the garment which was so unlike that 
which he had lately been so proud to wear. 

Presently the boys came in, and though they both 
used their pocket-handkerchiefs very freely as they 
looked from Lucy’s No. five slipper to Lonnie’s 
trousers, they managed to produce no more painful 
impression than that they had both taken violent 
colds riding in the night air. 

Mrs. Perkins, in the kindness of her heart, sug- 
gested hot ginger tea; but the boys declined with 
thanks, telling her that they would soon be better; 
and, indeed, they presently were when the breakfast 
of hot coffee and rolls, with fried chicken, ham, and 
eggs, was served. 

Mr. Perkins gave them such minute directions that 
they felt certain of being able to reach their destina- 
tion without further wandering, and when they re- 
sumed the journey the host and hostess, and even 


* “The Hegira.” 137 

tlie two summer boarders, were at the gate to see 
them off. 

A gift of a pair of white rabbits in a box had 
somewhat reconciled Lonnie to his attire, or rather 
driven it from his mind, but Lucy’s troubles were 
not over yet. Burton, in his boyish awkwardness, 
climbed into his seat, and then reached down h is hand 
to her. Lucy hesitated for a moment, remembering 
the slipper which she had only managed to retain by 
thrusting her foot into the toe at every step. 

“ Let me help you,” said the gentleman boarder, 
coming forward. Lucy reached her place in safety, 
but, alas! the slipper was left behind With im- 
perturbable gravity the young man placed it in the 
carriage at the blushing little girl’s feet, and lifted his 
hat to the party as they drove away. 

However many be the rules of etiquette, the con- 
ventionalities of polished society, true kindness of 
heart is at the bottom of all genuine politeness. 
Mrs. Perkins was a plain old lady, whose garments 
and manners would have caused a smile on the part 
of some who call themselves cultured, well-bred peo- 
ple of good social standing, but she knew more of 
true politeness than many such ; and the gentlemanly 
summer boarder, with his faultless dress and manners, 
could have told that he had learned much in the 
humble school of that farm-house home. It was a 
pity that Burton Bell so soon forgot the lesson whicli 
he had received, and began to tease Lucy for her mis- 


138 


Words and Ways. 


haps as soon as they were well on their wav. There 
are many who, like Burton and Father Perkins, take 
a great delight in teasing, and others who regard the 
mistakes of the ignorant with unsparing severity and 
ridicule, or go through life cutting their fellows with 
the polished steel of polite indifference; but those 
who give freely of sympathy and kindness are walk- 
ing more nearly in the footsteps of the Master. 


The New Home. 


139 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE NEW HOME. 

“ Tea, though 1 walk through the valley of the shadow of death, 
I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they 
comfort me.” — Psa. xxiii, 4. 

T he sun was beaming brightly overhead when 
Swift and Fancy ascended the slope which led 
into the town of Pleasant Hill. 

“ I think we will like it,” said Charlie, assuringly, 
as all leaned forward to get the first impression. 
“ There are said to be good schools, and that will be 
a great advantage.” 

“ H’m,” answered Burton, who was not very fond 
of school. 

“I know I shall not like to go to school,” said 
Lucy, “because Miss Maxwell will not be here, nor 
any of the girls I know.” 

“ There’s a nice large church and some handsome 
residences. I wonder whereabouts the Rectory is ? ” 
“ It is over at the back of the town,” answered 
Burton. “You know papa owns the whole farm. 
The woods are quite near, and it will be jolly fun 
hunting.” 

The tired horses were allowed to walk very leis- 
urely as they entered the place, and the party looked 


140 


Words and Ways. 


eagerly from both sides of the carriage at the spot 
which was now to be called home. The journey was 
over, the “ hegira ” was accomplished. Charlie had 
laughingly suggested that it would form an epoch 
from which to date future occurrences, as the Mo- 
hammedans reckon from the time of the flight of 
their prophet from Mecca ; but those boys and girls 
little guessed how important that date would prove 
to be to all their after lives. 

‘‘ Wliat is that man’s name that papa used to have 
in charge of the farm?” asked Burton, musingly. 
“ Oldham, or some such name, wasn’t it ? ” 

“ No, that wasn’t it,” said Annette ; “ it was N^w — 
something ; Newton, was it not ? ” 

“ Newman, Newman — I have it ! ” said Charlie. 

“Well, I knew it was something like that,” an- 
swered Burton. 

“ Just hear him ! ” laughed Charlie. “ A new man 
is something like an old ham, according to Burt. 
Now the next thing is to And this new man and get 
the keys to. our old house.” 

A few inquiries enabled them to And their father’s 
agent, a portly old gentleman with keen eyes and a 
kindly smile. .On hearing who the expected tenants 
of the old Rectory were he rubbed his hands. 

“Possible! possible!” he exclaimed. “Philip 
Bell’s children, and as flne a lot of boys and girls 
as I ever saw ! Where is your father, boys ? He 
told me a year ago that he wanted to have the old 


The New Home. 


141 


place put in repair, and I have been expecting to 
see or hear from him ever since.’^ 

On hearing of his old friend’s continued ill-health, 
he shook his head sympathetically. 

“ Poor Philip ! ” he said to himself, he was never 
very strong. Well I’ll tell you, young folks, you 
just take the cottage down at the end of this street, 
and I’ll set some men at work on the Eectory and 
have it fixed up for you in a few weeks.” 

“ Thank you very much,” answered Charlie ; “ but 
I think we would better go there at once. We can 
occupy a few rooms in tlie best part of the house 
while* the rest are being repaired.” 

Mr. Newman shrugged his shoulders. ‘‘Well,” he 
said, “you might try it, but if you don’t find the 
place habitable come down to the cottage.” 

He produced the keys and pointed out the diroxi- 
tion, and, having thanked him, the children turned 
their faces toward the old Eectory. There were no 
bats or owls to be seen as they approached, but the 
great old house wore a deserted, lonely appearance, 
which Charlie cheerfully declared would soon dis- 
appear. 

The luxuriant grass and shrubbery showing in the 
bright sunshine made the picture much more cheerful 
than it would otherwise liave been, ancl all were glad 
to escape from the confinement of the carriage. The 
great brass key was, with some little difficulty, made to 
turn in the lock, and the front door was thrown open. 


142 


Words and Ways. 


The little party gathered on the piazza peered in 
curiously. They saw a large old-fashioned hall, with 
wide staircase, and many doors opening right and left. 

We shall have room enough, at all events,’’ said 
Charlie. “We might start a hotel. There used to 
be a big school here, you know.” 

They entered the first room on the right, a large, 
well-lighted apartment with a cavernous fire-place at 
one end. 

The air felt chilly after the warm sunshine outside, 
and the paper was slipping down from the top, show- 
ing that the walls were damp. 

“ Here, Burt, we’ll bring in the trunk for the chil- 
dren to sit on, and then we’ll get some wood and start 
a fire, and we’ll feel at home directly,” said Charlie, 
in a loud tone, as if he were trying to scare away 
something. 

The big trunk was brought, and Annette, with 
Lucy and Eomie, perched themselves upon it; but 
Lonnie, indifferent now to the pattern of his trousers, 
ran out into the yard and gathered great handfuls of 
the rank clover for his rabbits, Mrs. Perkins having 
told him what they liked. He supplied his pets with 
their favorite food until the little creatures were al- 
most hidden under the mass of green, and Annette 
was compelled *lo go to their rescue. 

The boys soon came in with a load of dry wood 
and bark for kindling, and a fire was quickly crack- 
ling up the wide chimney. 


The Kew Home. 


143 


“ There’s a good stable and carriage -house,” an- 
nounced Charlie, who seemed bent on seeing all the 
bright spots in their new position. 

It’s a lonesome, dreary, miserable old place, and 
I don’t believe Fidelia and Job are coming,” whined 
Lucy. 

“ I’m hungry and sleepy,” chimed in Komie ; and 
Annette looked tired and troubled. 

After a little she took the bunch of keys and made 
a tour of the rooms on the ground floor, hoping to 
And a broom, but her search was fruitless. Dust and 
cobwebs were every-where, but nothing with which 
to clear them away ; and Burt was dispatched to the 
nearest grocery to get a broom, a dust-pan and brush, 
and some cakes and cheese for lunch. 

Having swept a corner, Annette made a bed on 
the floor by means of the carriage robes and cushions, 
with shawls and overcoats, and Lucy and Komie were 
soon sleeping soundly. 

‘^Annette, you had better go to sleep, too. Your 
eyes look like two glas^ paper-weights,” said Charlie. 

“01 must go to work,” answered the older sister, 
with a housewifely air. “ I must sweep out one or 
two other rooms for storing the things in until we are 
ready to arrange them. The kitchen and pantry must 
be swept and dusted before Fidelia arrives with the 
stores.” 

So Annette bustled about and got out a big apron 
and sweeping-cap, and went bravely to work. And 


144 


Words and Ways. 


if, looking out from the pantry window, across the 
green meadow to the woods beyond, where a pair of 
crows were slowly flapping their black wings over- 
head and uttering their mournful caws, she dropped a 
tear or two at thought of the old home, with its 
familiar, dearly-loved surroundings, -and the friends 
whom she had been obliged to leave without a fare- 
well, none of her brothers or sisters ever suspected 
the fact. 

Hearing the boys coming, she hastily dashed her 
apron across her eyes, and began to dust the pantry- 
shelves with great energy. 

“Well, Hettie, you are making things look spick 
and span,” said Burt ; “ but your cupboard is as bare 
as old Mother Hubbard’s.” 

“Just wait till that boiled ham and all those pies 
and loaves of bread come in,” answered Annette, 
keeping her face toward the woods where the crows 
were still circling. 

“Well, I’ll wait if I can,” answered the boy, with 
an air of great resignation ; “ but in the meantime 1 
wish I had some of Mre. Perkins’s breakfast-rolls and 
fried chicken. The blessed old lady! ‘I’ll keep a spot 
in memory’s garden ever consecrate to thee’ — to her, 
I mean,” explained Burton. 

“ I guess you mean to her fried chickens,” suggested 
Charlie. 

“ Helloa 1 there’s a wagon. I hope the recruits 
have come;” and the boys ran out, followed by An- 


The 'New Home. 


145 


nette. Sure enough, there were Job and Fidelia, with 
a heterogeneous load of trunks, boxes, and furniture, 
followed by Sam and Eph, with another wagon heaped 
up in the same manner. 

Lonnie was already mounted on the gate-post, giv- 
ing the first welcome to the new arrivals. The big 
baskets of provisions were first handed out, and then 
a large jar of butter was produced, with many injunc- 
tions of carefulness, and then Job and his aids began 
the work of carrying in the heavier articles 

There was comfort to the home sick young people 
in the sight of the familiar faces, and even in seeing 
the articles of furniture that had made a part of their 
former home. 

When Lucy and Komie awoke from their sound 
sleep, the setting sun was casting a wide stream of 
golden light across the fioor, and the table, with its 
snowy cloth, was laid for tea. Fidelia’s well-known 
figure was bustling in and out, adding much to the 
home-likeness of the scene. 

Lucy was glad to see Fidelia, but her neck was stiff 
from lying too long in one position, and she sat down 
by the window with her head on one side, grumbling 
about “ those old, hard carriage cushions.” 

Lonnie was romping in the yard with Solon, and 
apparently enjoying himself as highly as though he 
had just stepped out of a fashion-plate. A couple of 
boys passed, and one of them called out in a laughing 

voice to the child ; 

10 


146 


Words and Ways. 


“I say, sis, what makes you wear your frocks so 
long % ” 

I am not sis,” replied the little boy, “ and they are 
not a frock ; they are pants.” 

“ What is your name % ” asked the other boy. 

“ Lonnie Bell.” 

“ Laura ! ” replied the tormentor. I knew you 
was a girl. That is my little sister’s name.” 

“ I said Lonnie ! ” screamed the little fellow, 
angrily. 

‘‘O, Lottie, is it? Well, Lottie, come over some 
time and bring your dolls. Bye-bye.” 

“ Annette,” grumbled Lucy, as her sister came into 
the room, “ I wish you would make Lonnie stay in 
the house until you unpack the trunks and get out 
his clothes.” 

What for ? ” asked Annette. 

Why, those boys were making fun of his pants ; I 
know they were. They were looking at him and 
laughing,” urged Lucy. 

Annette looked out. Lonnie was apparently not 
crushed with mortification. He was again romping 
with his dog, as if nothing had happened. Then he 
scampered out to the stable, where Job was feeding 
tlie horses, and presently came in, bright and rosy, 
and ready for the tempting supper spread in the 
golden glow of the sun now hidden behind the green 
hills. 

“Job says they are going to start as soon as he 


The Home. 147 

feeds and waters the horses,” he announced. ‘‘ Make 
them stay all night, Fidelia.” 

“ Ho, honey, they must start right back,” answered 
the servant. ‘‘ The horses will go fast, and they will 
soon reach home.” 

“ When shall we go home ? ” asked the child. 

‘‘ Well, O, some day, deary,” answered Fidelia, 
rather embarrassed by the unexpected question. 

But you have such a nice place here to play with 
Solon in ; better than you had before.” 

“ Yes,” admitted Lonnie; ‘‘and I have my wabbits, 
too.” 

We can find pleasant phases in nearly every situa- 
tion if we will only look for them, instead of passing 
by the light and spying out the dark corners. 

The first meal in the new home was enjoyed by 
all, and when the tea-things were washed and put 
away, Annette and Fidelia went to prepare beds for 
the night. 

If there was a touch of home-sickness all around 
as the shadows deepened, who can wonder? But 
Charlie got up a romp with the little ones, and sent 
Burt to the store for a new pair of shoes for Lucy, 
and then told his funniest stories until the room 
resounded with mirth. 

Even Lucy regained her spirits for a time, and the 
talk and laugh went on, while the flames roared up 
the chimney, for the night was cool. 

“ Where on earth did you set up your bedstead, 


14:8 Words and Ways. 

bojs ? ” asked Annette, putting her head in at the 
door. 

“Up stairs in the front room of the south wing — 
over there,” motioning with his head. “It will be 
just the jolliest den you ever saw when we get our 
traps all in,” answered Charlie. 

Annette went back, and she and Fidelia made their 
way through the halls and intervening rooms until 
they reached the apartment indicated. 

“Well, upon my word!” exclaimed Fidelia, “the 
idea of taking such a journey every time one goes to 
bed ! You just wait here a minute, Nettie, and I’ll 
see if I can’t bring those young men to a better state 
of mind.” 

She went out, carrying the lamp with her. Annette 
did not much relish the idea of being left alone in 
the dark, strange room so far from the others, but 
thinking it would be foolish and cowardly to object, 
she sat down to await Fidelia’s return. She waited 
and waited on, and still the servant did not come. 
She had not dreamed that the journey, as ^he had 
called it, would require so much time, and she began 
to grow tired and nervous. The time passed on, and 
still she was alone in the darkness. She looked from 
the window and saw the lights in the houses over in 
the town, and they looked far away. 

Nothing was to be heard except a branch of the 
great elm-tree creaking against the side of the house 
as the wind swayed it backward and forward. 


The New Home. 


149 


Is it not strange that those who have sight, have 
oftentimes such an unreasoning fear of darkness, while 
so many hundreds have never seen the sun, and light 
and darkness are alike to them? This girl of my 
story waited on and on, her terror growing momentarily 
as she heard no sound that indicated the return of 
Fidelia. Then it secerned to her that a sound reached 
her ears as of some one crying out as if in distress. 
She listened intently, her heart-beats painfully dis- 
tinct. Again the cry came, but from what direction 
she could not have told. Stories that she had heard 
or read of haunted houses came into her mind. She 
started up and groped her way to the door. It was 
standing half-way open, and her forehead struck its 
sharp edge in the darkness. The adjoining room was 
as dark as that which the boys had chosen for their 
den,” but Annette was determined to try to make 
her way back to the light. She walked steadily to 
the place where she thought the door to be, and felt 
with outstretched hands ; but only the cold smooth 
wall met her touch. 

She went on and on, and still there seemed to be 
no place of egress, though a cold draught blew in her 
face from some quarter. Then she turned and felt 
her way back in the other direction, and presently 
found a door. She fumbled blindly for the knob, 
and managed, with considerable effort, to pull it open. 
The darkness was even greater than before, and a 
little later her way seemed quite blocked up. She 


150 


WoEDs AND Ways. 


was growing more and more terror-stricken. It all 
seemed so much like the terrible dreams in which we 
are imprisoned in dark caves or dungeons, and can 
find no way out. 

Annette’s terror was heightened by the recollec- 
tion of the story related by Charlie of his own ex- 
perience of the night before. Suppose she should 
see something horrible ? And then there came to her 
a verse which her father had asked her to learn, just 
before he went away : 

“Who is among you that feareth the Lord, that 
obeyeth the voice of his servant, that walketh in 
darkness, and hath no light ? let liim trust in the 
name of the Lord, and stay upon his God.” Isa. 1, 10. 

She did not know as she could apply the passage 
to herself ; she felt that her terror of this darkness 
was foolish, yet the bare thought that the Bible had 
spoken of the trouble of walking in darkness,” was 
somehow comforting. 

A little later she made the discovery that she 
had opened a closet door instead of the one leading 
out of the room. lietracing her steps, she again felt 
along the wall, and at last found the one of which 
she liad been in search. Then she saw a light in the 
distance, which came nearer and nearer, and presently 
Burton and Fidelia appeared. 

“ Why, ISTettie, have you seen a ghost, too ? ” asked 
the boy. “ You are as pale as a sheet.” 

“No, I have not seen any thing; that was tlio 


The ITew Home. 


151 


trouble,” answered Annette, laughing, and feeling a 
little ashamed. ‘‘ I began to think that Fidelia was 
not coming back.” 

Then Fidelia explained that a draught of wind had 
blown out the lamp, and she had lost her way, and had 
been obliged to call for a light. This, then, was the 
cry which had so startled Annette. 

The room was soon arranged, and Burton kindled a 
fire on the hearth, which gave a touch of cheerfulness 
to the “ den,” and they all went back down stairs, 
Fidelia still grumbling a little at the distance. 

How foolish and foundationless Annette’s late 
terror now seemed to her with light and voices around 
her. She thought of the strong confidence in God, 
which could enable the psalmist to say : ‘‘ Though I 
walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I 
will fear no evil : for thou art with me,” (Psa. xxiii, 
4;) and she wished for a faith so strong, and a hope 
so bright, that nothing could trouble or alarm her. 
Ah, she had sorer need of the comfort and guidance 
of her heavenly Father than she knew ! 

The boys and girls at the old Kectory at Pleasant 
Hill were sound sleepers on the first night in their 
new home. The sun was high and looking in at the 
windows before any of them arose ; yet that night 
was one to be remembered in all their after lives. 


152 


Words and Ways. 


CHAPTEK Xiy. 

FORGOTTEN PROMISES. 

“Charity sufifereth long, and is kind.” — 1. Cor. xiii, 4. 

T he young people at the old Rectory were begin- 
ning to feel at home in their new residence. 
Most of their life had been spent where the face of 
nature was much less plainly seen than at Pleasant 
Hill, and the fields and hills, the wide lawns and green 
meadows, looked refreshing to their eyes. The grand 
old elms and maples seemed like pleasant, new ac- 
quaintances, ever ready to salute them with waving 
branches. 

As the time passed on they made some other 
acquaintances in their new home. Burt soon made 
the announcement that there were lots of jolly boys ” 
at Pleasant Hill, and some of their neighbors gave 
them a welcome in little acts of neighborly kindness, 
which were more expressive than words. These were 
pleasant enough to most of the children ; but Lucy, 
with her mistaken notions and morbid sensitiveness, 
seemed to find a sting in every thing that offered. 
She needed some one wiser than herself to brush 
away her superficial ideas, and point her to the plain 
path of duty, overarched with the bright bow of 


Foegotten Peomises. 


153 


faith, hope, and chanty. It might have made her a 
braver and a better girl. 

One morning a timid ring was heard at the front 
door, and Lucy answered the summons to find a 
little girl in a very large green calico sun-bonnet, 
with a pitcher of milk. She made a queer little 
courtesy, spilling some of the milk on the piazza floor 
as she did so, and said : 

“I am Mollie Hicks, and mother said, would you 
please to accept of a pitcher of milk ? ” 

How, as Lucy afterward admitted, she did not 
much relish having their milk given to them by little 
girls in shabby, faded dresses and calico bonnets ; but 
she was very fond of milk, and they had neither seen 
nor heard of the milkman since coming to their new 
home. 

So she reached out her hands for the pitcher, and 
invited Mollie into the sitting-room. Burton gave 
her a chair, and Lucy went to empty the pitcher. On 
returning she astounded her brother by asking, 
demurely : 

“Will you take off your green calico sun-bon- 
net ? ” 

Burton stared, and then made his escape from the 
room as quickly as possible. But Mollie only smiled, 
and answering, “Ho, I thank you ; mother told me 
not to stay this time ; I will come again,” took her 
leave. 

“Did you thank the child for the milk?” asked 


154 


Ways and Words. 


Annette, as Lucy returned to the kitchen, where prep- 
arations for dinner were going forward. 

“ I — I guess so,” stammered Lucy. 

“No, you didn’t,” answered Burton; “but I’ll tell 
you. Net, what she did do. She said,” — drawing 
down the corners of his mouth in mimicry of his 
younger sister’s style, — “‘will you take off your 
green calico sun-bonnet ? 

“ Did I say that ? ” asked Lucy, deprecatingly. 

“ You certainly did. I thought I should explode 
with laughter before I could get out of the room,” 
answered Burton. 

“ That comes of your commenting on her bonnet 
when you came to empty the pitcher,” said Charlie. 
“ Mr. Leyburn used to tell us boys that it was unsafe 
to speak words, or even to harbor thoughts, which we 
would not like the world to know.” 

“ He used to quote a verse about the birds telling,” 
said Burton. “ What was it, Charlie ? ” 

“ ‘ A bird of the air shall carry the voice, and that 
which hath wings shall tell the matter,’ ” answered 
Charlie. “ But he said that the language was figu- 
rative, and that we usually betrayed ourselves.” 

“Just as Lu did,” laughed Burton. 

“I don’t care,” retorted Lucy, with a very red 
face; “I didn’t mean any harm, and I am sure her 
bonnet was of green calico, and she was very poor 
and shabby looking.” 

“I have no doubt the milk is just as sweet and 


Foegotten Promises. 155 

rich as though she had been dressed in silk and vel- 
vet,” said Annette. 

“ W ell, what made me think about it, Eunice was 
sitting by the window and saw her come here,” an- 
swered Lucy. 

“ What of that ? ” asked Charlie. 

“ O she is so very particular about her associates, 
and always dresses so nicely.” 

“And is as prim and proper-looking as a little 
china-faced doll,” put in Burt. “Her countenance 
looks as if she couldn’t move a muscle if she wanted 
to. She is so nice that her mother calls her ‘Hicey.’ 
The other day, as I was passing, I heard her call out, 
‘You Hicey!’ I don’t know what Hicey had been 
doing.” 

■“You didn’t understand,” said Lucy; “Eunice 
says her mother always gives her name its classical 
pronunciation.” 

“ O ! ah ! indeed ! Its classical pronunciation,” 
mimicked Burt. 

“ I think you ought to be ashamed to make fun of 
any one in that way,” said Lucy. “ I think she has 
a real nice name.” 

“ So do I,” answered the teasing brother ; “ but T 
don’t think I shall ever call her ‘YouNicey.’ 1. 
sounds too much like a reprimand, and I suppose 
such a very proper, particular person never requires 
any thing of the kind.” 

“ Burton, did you order those shingles last week ? ” 


156 WoEDS AND Ways. 

asked Charlie, as his brother was about leaving the 
room. 

“ No ; I quite forgot them,” was the answer ; “ but 
I’ll be sure to see Mr. Elbright to-day. Henry Carl- 
ton and I are going out in that direction on a squirrel 
hunt.” 

‘‘ Better put off the squirrel hunt and go directly 
to the mill,” advised Charlie. If you get in com- 
pany with Henry you will never think of the shingles 
again, and Mr. Jeffreys said they should be put on 
at once. Besides, he is waiting to do the work, you 
know.” 

“ All right ; I’ll attend to the matter without fail,” 
answered Burton. 

A little later he sallied forth with his gun on his 
shoulder, and Henry Carlton met him at the end of 
the lane. The boys set out in high spirits, intent on 
a day’s sport. They did not return until late in the 
evening. Burton’s game- bag was found to be well 
filled, and the squirrels were dressed for breakfast. * 
No one said or thought any thing about the shingles, 
and BuHon, tired with his long tramp, retired early. 

About nine o’clock some one knocked vigorously 
at the door, and Charlie opened it to see Mr. Jef- 
freys, the carpenter. 

“ What about that work ? ” he asked, a little gruffly. 

“ I put off a job I had on hand to put on those shin- 
gles, and I’ll be obliged to do it now or let it go till 
next month.” 


Fokgoiten Promises. 157 

“ Burt ordered the shingles to-day,” answered Char- 
lie ; “ I suppose they will be here to-morrow.” 

“You ought to have got them a week ago,” an- 
swered Mr. Jeffreys. “ The weather is bound to 
change in a day or two and, making this remark his 
farewell, he disappeared in the darkness. 

“ I do wish Burt had ordered those shingles when 
he was first told to do so,” said Charlie, in a vexed 
way, when he returned to the sitting-room. “ Mr. 
Jeffreys is out of humor about the delay, and thinks 
the fine weather is about over. I hope if will nof rain 
for awhile.” 

“ Did Mr. Elbright promise to send the shingles at 
once ? ” asked Annette. 

“I don’t know,” answered Charlie, with a start, 
suddenly remembering that he had not spoken to 
Burton about the matter on his return. 

Hurrying up to the room where he and his brother 
slept, he found Burton in the deep sleep of fatigue, 
and snoring lustily. Shaking the sleeper unceremo- 
niously, Charlie asked : 

“ Did you order those shingles to-day, Burt ? ” 

Burton snored on. Charlie shook him still more 
violently. 

“ I say, Burt, did you order those shingles ? ” 

At last, after repeated shakings, Burt started up. 

“ What do you want ? ” he asked, shortly. 

“ Those shingles,” replied Charlie. 

“I haven’t got any shingles!” was answered, inx- 


168 Words and Ways. 

patiently ; and then Burton sat up and rubbed his 
eyes. 

“Did you order those shingles to-day?’’ repeated 
Charlie, with unnecessary emphasis, for his brother 
was now wide awake. 

“Yes — no,” stammered Burton; “I forgot it en- 
tirely. Went right past Elbright’s, too. I’m real 
sorry, Charlie; I’ll go the first thing in the morn- 
ing.” 

“ I see it will never do to trust you to do any 
thing but enjoy yourself and have a good time. You 
are too selfish to care for any thing else,” answered 
Charlie, angrily, as he went out and slammed the 
door. 

“ Dear me, how the wind is blowing ! ” said Fide- 
lia, as Charlie fiung one door after another shut behind 
him, and she went to look after the shutters. In the 
meantime Charlie procured a lantern and a stout 
stick, and announced his intention of “ settling that 
shingle question once for all.” 

“01 would not think of going to-night ! ” pro- 
tested Annette. 

“ ITo, indeed,” called out Fidelia from somewhere 
in the darkness ; “ there is a big storm brewing by the 
way the doors and shutters are slamming about this 
draughty place.” 

Charlie knew well what kind of a storm it was 
which had caused the noise ; but he offered no expla- 
nation. Indeed, the storm was still raging. 


Forgotten Promises. 


159 


I told Mr. Jeffreys that the shingles would be 
here to-rnorrow, and if they are not, it will not be 
because they have not been ordered,” he said, dog- 
gedly. You can all go to bed as usual. I will let 
myself in.” And off he went. 

Burton, although he had no suspicion of his broth- 
er’s intention, was feeling very uncomfortable at the , 
thought of his remissness. He was angry with him- 
self and angry with Charlie for being angry with him. 
He could not put the matter out of his mind, but lay 
tossing about and wishing that his brother would 
come back and settle down, so that he could go to 
sleep. 

But Charlie did not come, and he tossed and turned 
until he was tired out, and at last forgot every thing 
and was snoring again. 

As for Charlie, he made his way the best he could 
by the light of his lantern along the lonely, deserted 
road, past farm-houses, where the lights were disap- 
pearing, then through the wood path over the hill, 
which would shorten his journey, he thought, but 
which really made it longer, as he lost his way and 
was compelled to go back to the road. The way 
seemed very long in the darkness and silence, but at 
last the mill loomed up against the background of 
starlit sky, and he knew that Mr. Elbright’s residence 
was not far beyond. 

As he was about to enter the grounds he heard the 
barking of a dog ; but, grasping his stick more firmly, 


160 


Words and Ways. 


he resolved to let nothing drive him from his pur- 
pose, after the toilsome journey he had made. 

Boldly entering the yard, he took the path to the 
front door and knocked loudly. He heard no re- 
sponse except the barking of the dog, who now ap- 
peared on the scene, and not only one, but two — yes, 
* three, as another pair of fiery eyes came around the 
corner of the house. 

This was more than our hero had expected, and 
hastily setting down his lantern and dropping his 
stick, he sprang for the nearest tree. The branches 
grew at a considerable distance from the ground, and 
w^hen he had reached a place of safety and compara- 
tive comfort, he found himself almost on a level with 
the upper windows. One of these was opened a lit- 
tle later, and a head appeared. 

Who is there ? ” was demanded. 

“ Excuse me, sir, I am not there, but here,” an- 
swered Charlie’s voice quite close to the questioner. 

W ell, so I perceive,” replied Mr. Elbright. 
“ What is your business ? ” 

“ I want six thousand of your best shingles sent to 
Pleasant Hill, to the old Bectory, to-morrow, cash 
down on delivery,” answered Charlie. 

‘‘Well, I don’t know,” replied Mr. Elbright. “Be 
quiet, Turk, and take yourself off ! ” 

The dog slinked away, followed by his companions. 

“ I sold out my stock to some builders out at Over- 
ton this evening. I could easily have sent them to- 


Foegotten Peomises. 


161 


day if you had given your order in time. I guess 
you will be obliged to wait now for a week or two. 
You are Bell, I believe.” 

“Yes, sir,” answered Charlie. 

“ If you had left your order when you passed this 
morning I could have filled it at once. I know your 
place needs shingles badly.” 

“ It was my brother who passed this morning. I 
told him to stop, but he forgot it,” answered the boy, 
his angry feelings rising anew at the thought of Bur- 
ton’s carelessness and the results following. 

“ Well, I will do the best I can for you if you give 
me the order,” continued Mr. Elbright. 

“ I can do no better,” answered Charlie. ‘‘ There 
are none in town.” 

“ Poor fellow ! to have come all the way from 
town in the night only to be disappointed ! ” said a 
compassionate voice in a cautious undertone. ‘‘Do 
ask him to come in and stay till morning, Bufus.” 

“No, I thank you,” answered Charlie, forgetting 
that the words were not addressed to him ; “ I must 
go back at once. Good-night.” 

He slipped down from his perch, and recovering 
his lantern and stick, retraced his steps. He had 
escaped the dogs, but had hurt his hands on the rough 
bark of the tree, and was so tired and sleepy that he 
felt in no very amiable mood. 

“ It is absolutely ridiculous, my not being able to 
go through that little strip of woods. I’ll go back 


162 


WoKDS AND Ways. 


that way or spend the night in trying,’’ he said to 
himself, impatiently. So he struck out for what 
seemed the most probable route, and went on and on 
until he was completely tired out. 

He knew, at last, that unless he had changed his 
course he must have passed through the stretch of 
woodland between the town and the saw-mill long 
since. So he sat down to rest and think. His lan- 
tern cast strange shadows, and showed him the huge 
trunks of the trees standing around him like giant 
sentries, hedging in his way on every side. 

He almost wished that he had stopped at Mr. El- 
bright’s until morning, but very likely Annette and 
Fidelia would sit up for him, although he told them 
not to do so. He must make another effort. At last," 
after what seemed hours of aimless wandering and 
stumbling about, he came out into the road at the 
opposite end of the town from that by which he had 
left it. 

The house was silent and dark, except for the hall 
lamp. He heard the clock striking two as he went 
up to his room. BuHon was sound asleep, and as 
Charlie looked at the flushed, boyish face, as he lay with 
one arm thrown over his head, despite his own wea- 
riness and vexation over his fruitless effort, he thought, 
with a little pain, of his last words to his brother, 
those stinging words which had been prompted by im- 
patience and anger. 

My reader, did you ever reflect that somewhere^ 


Fokgotten Pkomises. 


163 


sometime, somehow, we shall speak our last words to 
all those around us? To our dear ones alike with 
the strangers who casually cross our paths ? To some, 
perhaps, they have been already spoken, and had we 
known that they would be our last, might they not 
have been different in many ways ? 

A little boy having spoken some light and careless 
words to a darling sister, on bidding her good-night, 
went afterward to her room to cover them over with 
words which were more in accord with the love he 
felt for her, for, said he, “ They might hme heen my 
last words to EllaP 

Ah, let us see to it that our last words ” shall be 
sweet and loving ones ! 

Some thought like tliis was passing through 
Charlie Bell’s* mind as he stood looking at his brother. 
True, Burton had been thoughtless, careless, and 
untrustwortliy ; but the very thought of his brother’s 
fault seemed to stand before him as an accuser against 
himself. 

How clearly he remembered a conversation with 
his father not long before his departure, in which Mr. 
Bell had said : 

“ Charlie, my boy, I leave the others in your care. 
Try to fill my place to your brothers and sisters while 
I am away.” 

How proud the words had made him ! How eager- 
ly he had promised to do his best ! And how had he 
kept his promise? Would his father have spoken 


164 


Words and Ways. 


and acted as lie had done but a few hours before ? 
His failure in this instance recalled others of like 
character. It was now Charlie’s turn to toss restlessly, 
with the words of Scripture ringing in his ears : 

“ Wherein thou judgest another, thou condemnest 
thyself ; for thou that judgest doest the same things.” 
Koin. ii, 1. 


Disappointment and Sokkow. 


165 


CHAPTEK XY. 

DISAPPOINTMENT AND SORROW. 

“ Man is born unto trouble, as the sparks fly upward.” — ^Job v, 7. 

P EKHAPS one of the greatest of the minor trials 
of life is that of waiting. Looking forward to 
something and being disappointed day by day. Even 
in matters of no very great weight, the delay is often 
trying, and we have need to look to the source of all 
strength for grace and patience, and when we are 
expecting the arrival of % long-absent friend, or even 
a letter, the contents of which are “ tidings from a 
far country,” every new disappointment seems like a 
blow. 

Then comes the grasping at the hope which the 
morrow holds out. W e lose the present in our longing 
for its coming, only to find it as empty of the wished- 
for good as was the day before. 

The trains came into Pleasant Hill, and brought 
the great leathern mail-bags that in their fullness 
seemed to hold enough for all, and the crowd surged 
in and out of the post-ofiice, and many expected or 
unexpected letters were received ; but the lives of the 
young people at the old Rectory were divided be- 
tween anticipation and disappointment, until there 


166 WoEDS AND Ways. 

came to some of them the heart-sickness that is born 
of hope deferred. 

Charlie had written to his father on the day fol- 
lowing their arrival at their present home, and his 
letter had been followed by one from Annette, and 
another from Burton. Many days had since elapsed, 
but as yet they had received no reply. 

“ I know papa will write saying that we have done 
just right. We are sure to get a letter to-morrow,” 
Charlie had said, confidently, from day to day. But 
the letter did not come, and even he grew silent and 
gloomy. Then Annette exerted herself to try to 
kindle a little hope. 

“ Perhaps papa is coming home, or he may not have 
been quite so well and put off writing. We shall 
certainly either see him or hear from him soon.” 

The younger children were too young to feel so 
deeply in regard to the letters, but they often wished 
that their father would come home. As for Burton, 
the acquaintances he had formed among the boys of 
Pleasant Hill interested him very much, and helped 
him to pass over what would otherwise have been a 
very trying time. Charlie and Annette found some 
employment to fill up many of the weary hours, but 
they did not feel much pleasure in any thing. They 
had heard from their father daily while at Plainville, 
and it seemed to them as if they had, by their own 
act, cut themselves off from all communication with 
him, in leaving home without first consulting him. 


Disappointment and Soeeow. 167 

The brother and sister both wrote again, but still no 
tidings came. 

Ah, how wise it is for us to learn to lean upon the 
strong arm of our heavenly Friend for support in all 
the trials of life! Even were it not true that our 
Father’s love and care is our safest refuge from the 
storms of earth, there comes a time to all of us when 
we have no other refuge, no other covert from the 
windy storm and tempest of sorrow and bereave- 
ment. 

Another week passed slowly day by day, and 
Saturday evening came. 

“ If there is not a letter to-night, how shall we 
endure until Monday ? ” asked Annette, with a sigh. 
“ Please go over early, Burt ; Charlie has gone up to 
Mr. N^ewman’s to find out if he has heard any thing 
from papa. Do get a letter this time. I don’t believe 
I can wait any longer,” she added, trying to speak 
lightly. 

‘‘All right,” answered Burton. “I’ll bring you 
one if I am obliged to write it myself.” 

Annette watched her brother as he went down the 
street with his quick, swinging step, and then, to pSss 
away the time, her Saturday duties being all complete, 
she went to the room which had been arranged for her 
father,“ papa’s room,” as even little Lonnie had learned 
to call it, and dusted the furniture, re-arranging 
the mantel ornaments, putting little touches here and 
there, and even drawing up the easy-chair before the 


168 


Words and Ways. 


fire-place where the wood and kindling were laid 
ready to be lighted. 

‘‘ O, if he would only come to-night ! ’’ she said to 
herself as, unconsciously, she laid her hand on the 
family Bible, from which he had been wont to read 
to them the blessed truths by which he ruled his life. 

How well it had been for her if she had only learned 
to know the God of her father, the gracious One of 
whom David has said : “ When my father and my 
mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up.” 

She walked about the room in a state of nervous 
excitement, looking at the pictures that had been his 
favorites, and the volumes that she knew he had 
loved, and which she had tried to arrange in the 
shelves as he had left them in that other home. 

The light was growing dim, and she went out, closing 
the door behind her softly, as if there had been some 
one there who must not be disturbed. She met Lucy 
in the hall, and they went to the front door and 
strained their eyes to catch a sight of Burton. Then 
Annette remembered that the train had not yet come, 
but there was Charlie, and the sisters hurried out to 
the gate to hear what he might have to say. Charlie 
had brought no tidings, and the three sat down to 
wait for Burton. 

All were silent, busy with their own thoughts. 
The little ones, tired with a long ramble, had gone to 
rest, and nothing was heard except a whip-poor- 
will’s note in a clump of trees not far from the house. 


Disappointment and Sorkow. 169 

Then after more waiting they heard the whistle of 
the locomotive, and as the darkness grew and deep- 
ened, the lights twinkled out here and there in the 
town. The time dragged slowly on. Once or twice 
they thought that Burton was coming ; but no, it was 
only a passer-by. 

At last he came, but walking at a provokingly 
leisurely pace, the impatient watchers thought. 

“IS^o letter yet?” asked Annette, dejectedly, as he 
sat down on the steps without a word. 

Burton started. “ Why I forgot to go to the office. 
The train wasn’t in yet, and Will Miles asked me to 
go down to the river to see his new boat,” he ex- 
plained. 

‘‘ And you have been fooling about down at the 
river while we have been waiting to hear from the 
mail ! ” exclaimed Charlie, angrily. 

Alas, alas for the good resolutions of both these 
boys ! 

“ What was the use for me to loaf around the office 
when the train hadn’t come? ” retorted Burton. 

‘‘ The train came half an hour ago,” replied 
Charlie. 

‘^Well, I’ll go,” answered the delinquent, as his 
brother sprang to his feet ; but Charlie hurried away 
without making any reply. 

“ I know there is no letter there without asking,” 
muttered Burton, feeling very uncomfortable over 
this new remissness and the blame which he had 


lYO 


Words and Ways. 


incurred. I have been hanging about the post-office 
nearly half of my time ever since we came to the Hill/’ 
he said, falling into the phraseology of some of the 
boys of the vicinity, “ and I have asked for letters, 
and been told there are none, until I am ashamed to 
look the postmaster or his clerk in the face.” 

Then there was silence again. Even Lucy was too 
miserable to grumble. Charlie took the nearest route 
to the office, and hurried along at his utmost speed. 
Once he ran against a man as he turned a corner, and 
was asked, curtly. 

Is there a fire, young fellow, or are you in a hurry 
for the doctor ? ” 

Charlie did not even wait to apologize. He in- 
quired for letters, and waited breathlessly while the 
polite, but unconcerned, official shuffied over the con- 
tents of the B box. 

There were envelopes lai’ge and small, orange, pale 
buff, and white. There was a slight pause now and 
then, and a little closer scanning of some illegible ad- 
dress, that seemed to offer some hope to the waiting 
boy, and then the letter that might have brought 
news to the aching hearts was passed by with those 
which had gone before. 

‘‘ Charles Bell ! ” called out the young man at last, 
as coolly as if it were a very commonplace afiair — as, 
of course, it was to him. 

“Yes, sir,” answered Charlie, eagerly, and reached 
out his hand. 


Disappointment and Sorkow. 171 

“ Three cents due,” announced the clerk, with his 
characteristic coolness. 

Charlie produced a dime, and, without waiting for 
his change, snatched the letter and hurried out to the 
street lamp away from the crowd. 

The envelope was not addressed by his father’s 
hand, but he recognized the post-mark at a glance, 
and he tore it open with nervous fingers. What did 
it mean ? His last letter to his father, and then a 
note in the same strange hand as the address. He 
read it over once, twice, thrice, in a kind of numb 
terror, and then he knew he could not be mistaken. 
The long silence was explained. The letter from 
father, for which they had waited and longed, would 
never come. They were doubly orphaned now. 

Charlie hurried home as in a dream. His brother 
and sisters had gone indoors, and the lamp was light- 
ed. He hoped they would not say one word to him. 
He felt as if he could not bear to speak. He carried 
the letter conspicuously open, and something in his 
face startled them all into silence. He laid the sor- 
row-burdened missive silently on the table, and, hur- 
rying out, groped his way in darkness through the 

long journey,” as Fidelia had called it, to his own 
room, and threw himself on the bed in an abandon of 
pain. 

He did not weep. It seemed to him that the tears 
would never come to his eyes again. He only thought 
and thought until it seemed to him as if he should 


172 


Words and Ways. 


go wild. Had lie been near enough to hear his sis- 
ters’ cries and moans, he would have roused himself 
to go to them and try to comfort them, but he was 
too far away, and he thought only of his own bereave- 
ment. 

Could it be possible that he had been fatherless all 
these weeks since coming to Pleasant Hill ? The date 
of his father’s death, as given by the proprietor of the 
Glen House, was the very same as that of their flight 
from Plainville. 

Charlie Bell never knew how long he lay there 
with dry, burning eyes and the pain of his loss press- 
ing on his heart like a load that was too heavy to be 
borne. It seemed to him like a long, long time. He 
could not weep, and he did not pray. He only tossed 
himself about and groaned. 

Then the door opened, and Fidelia came in with a 
light. Her eyes were red with weeping. 

Poor boy ! my heart aches for you,” she said, lay- 
ing her hand on his head in the way she had used to 
do when he was a little child ; “ but try to be a man, 
Charlie, for the sake of the others. You will have to 
take your father’s place to them now, you know. Try 
to do as he would wish you to do.” 

She could not have spoken wiser words, unless she 
had been able to appeal to a wish to please his God. 

Charlie arose, and followed her without a word. 
Komie had been awakened by her sisters’ voices, and, 
frightened and bewildered, added her cries to theirs 


Disappointment and Sorrow. 173 

without at all understanding the dark shadow that 
had fallen across her young life. 

Little Lonnie was as yet happily unconscious of all 
troubles except such as come and go lightly in the 
world of dreams. I will not pain my reader by 
dwelling at length upon the scene at tlie old Rectory 
on that sad Saturday night. The grief of those boys 
and girls, so poignant in its freshness, would be soft- 
ened by time; but to-night there seemed no ray of 
light or joy for them in all their after lives. How 
small and trivial little every-day annoyances seemed 
compared with this vast mountain of grief which had 
fallen upon them ! Alas ! they had no experimental 
knowledge of that One who “ comforteth as a 
mother.” 

They all slept at last the sleep of exhaustion, and 
the faithful servant knelt by each bedside and offered 
earnest prayer to the God of the fatherless in behalf 
of those young hearts so sorely stricken. 


174 


WoEDs AND Ways. 


CHAPTER XYI. 

A VISIT OF CONDOLENCE. 

“0 send out thy light and thy truth: let them lead me; let them 
bring me unto thy holy hill.” — Psa. xliii, 3. 

H ah there been some faithful ones, even a single, 
earnest, sympathetic follower of the Master, to 
go to those bereaved ones in their sorrow and dark- 
ness, and point them to the Source of all consolation, 
what a Christ-like work might have been accom- 
plished ! 

But the well-to-do church, with its handsome place 
of worship, was at present without a pastor, or even 
a prayer - meeting or Sabbath -school. Alas for the 
Church whose candlestick is so near to being removed 
out of its place ! 

There were, doubtless, devout and sincere Chris- 
tians in the community, but either they did not know 
of the bereavement of the lonely young people at 
the old Rectory, or they thought that others would 
go to them with the balm of consolation. Ah, how 
prone we are to delegate our duties to others ! 

Life went on just as before. The great factory, 
with its noisy wheels and looms, rang its sonorous 
bell to call the operatives to their work, and then 
again to release them ; the big flouring-mill blew its 


A Visit of Condolence. 


175 


whistle to mark the hours of labor ; the trains came 
and went, and busy, active men and women, and 
happy, thoughtless children passed up and down the 
streets unknowing or uncaring that there were those 
in their midst for whom life could never be the same 
again ; that there were young hearts not far away 
that were borne down with a sorrow so heavy, a grief 
so painful, that they could see no brightness around 
or before them. 

They did not care to go to the post-office now. 
The letter for which they had waited day after day, 
with such trembling expectancy, would never come. 
They could receive no more messages from their 
father, and that thought was one of the bitterest in- 
gredients in their cup of sorrow, as it often is to 
those whose friends have passed beyond the confines 
of this world. They knew that their father was in 
heaven, but, 0, he seemed so far away, and they 
could not hear from him ! Have we not all yearned 
for some sign from the one who has lovingly walked 
with us here, and has tenderly remembered us when 
absent from our sight? If only we might hear in 
the well-known voice, or read in the familiar hand, 
but the words, “Well and happy,” or “I do not for- 
get you,” or “I love you still,” the message would 
come as cold waters io a thirsty soul. 

But, O ! the sudden unbroken silence, the absence 
which is not to be measured by weeks nor months 
nor years, but must go on to the end of life ; and yet 


176 


Words and Ways. 


all this is well or our Father would not have permitted 
it to be so. “ Earth has no sorrow that Heaven can- 
not heal,” and God has revealed enough for our peace 
and happiness if we will but receive it. He has told 
us of the house of many mansions in which Jesus 
went to prepare a place for his followers ; of the city 
whose builder and maker is God ; of the light and 
gladness, the songs and halleluiahs of the redeemed, 
the joys that language fails to describe ; the blessed- 
ness that eye hath not seen, ear hath not heard, nor 
the heart of man conceived. 

Surely we know enough if we will but receive it, 
and it is not only needless, but wTong, to wish to pry 
with our earthly vision into the spirit world, or listen 
for the voices that are now attuned to the song of Mo- 
ses and the Lamb. We need not fear that they will 
forget us, and, though they may not return to us, we 
may go to them when God shall call us away from 
earth. 

Charlie Bell was the first to rally from the stupor 
of grief that followed the first keen blow of sorrow, 
as he had been the first to rally from the effects of 
that blow when it had fallen. At his suggestion 
he and Burton made a trip to Plainville to consult 
with their father’s old friend and lawyer. Judge 
Morris. 

They promised to return as soon as possible, in two 
or three days at the farthest, and Fidelia assured 
them that they might trust her, telling them that 


A Visit of Condolence. 177 

she would stand guard over those who were left 
behind. 

On the day following the departure of the boys, a 
lady called at the Rectory, whom Annette had never 
seen before. She introduced herself as Miss Towne, 
and was very kind and f riendly. She alluded delicate- 
ly to the sorrow that had come to the family, express- 
ing her sympathy, and then, after a short pause, said : 

“ I am a milliner and dressmaker. Miss Bell, and I 
have come to you, since you are strangers, thinking, 
perhaps, you might desire my services in the way of 
mourning hats and dresses.’’ 

‘‘Thank you,” answered Annette, “but I do not 
think we will require any. Papa was not pleased 
with the custom of wearing mourning. He told us 
when mamma died that we could best respect her 
memory by trying to be resigned and cheerful for 
her sake and the sakes of those who remained ; and 
he kept a vase of fresh flowers always before her 
portrait when flowers were to be had.” 

“ Ah, how beautiful ! ” said Miss Towne, appreciat- 
ingly ; “ and do you still observe the custom ? ” 

In response to the question Annette invited her 
visitor to go with her to “papa’s room.” It was a 
little strange that she should have done so. It seemed 
a sacred place in her eyes. 'No one but she had en- 
tered it since that sadly remembered evening on 
which she had fondly dreamed that her father might 

return. Had she taken her brothers and sisters with 
12 


178 


Words and Ways. 


her in her daily visits to the apartment which con- 
tained so many reminders of the dear, departed one, 
and talked to and with them of their mutual loss, it 
would in time have softened the bitterness of grief 
for all of them. But no, she had held the room 
sacred to her own sorrow, and here she was inviting 
an entire stranger to visit the hallowed spot. 

The portraits of Mr. and Mrs. Bell were hung side 
by side between two of the windows, and on a table 
before them stood a large vase filled with the choicest 
fiowers which the garden afiorded. 

‘‘ Ah, how beautiful, how appropriate ! ” repeated 
Miss Towne ; and you will find a comfort in per- 
petuating the offering.” 

The words uttered softly by this stranger of an 
hour ago fell soothingly on the wounded heart of the 
lone girl, and she talked to her more freely than she 
had yet done of her father’s death. 

‘‘ If we could but have received one more letter, if 
we could have had but a farewell message, it would 
not be quite so hard to bear. Fidelia tells me "that 
I must not dwell too much on that thought, that the 
messages of the dying need not be more precious or 
comforting than the known feelings and wishes of a 
life-time.” 

‘^Who is Fidelia? — ^your servant?” asked Miss 
Towne, a little coldly. 

‘‘Bather our friend than servant,” answered An- 
nette. 


A Visit of Condolence. 


1Y9 


A very good woman, I have no doubt ; but I think 
she is mistaken. The latest wishes of our dead should 
be held sacred in the highest degree.” 

“ If we but knew them,” added Annette, with a 
sigh. 

“ It is in our power to know them if we will,” was 
answered, calmly; and then, as Annette looked at 
her in questioning wonder, she went on to inquire 
the time of Mr. Bell’s death. 

Annette gave the date, and added, tearfully : 

“ It was the very same evening on which we left 
our old home.” 

Miss Towne gave'" a little start, but quickly re- 
covered herself, and folded her hands tranquilly. 

“ And can it be that you received no sign, no 
token of his death ? ” she asked, after a little pause 
“Did no member of the family either hear or see 
any thing unusual on that night? Can you recall 
nothing that might have been a warning? ” 

Annette’s thoughts flew back to the story which 
Charlie had told her of the tall, white flgure that 
came from his father’s room and vanished down the 
hall in the moonlight. She had never alluded to the 
subject, even to Fidelia, and she shrank from doing 
so now ; but she related the circumstance briefly, with 
a pale face and faltering speech. 

Miss Towne talked soothingly, and assured her that 
she need not be at all troubled if she were only will- 
ing to exert her strength. 


180 


Ways and Words. 


It appears that you did receive a visitation, as I 
felt convinced you must have done,” she said, and 
no doubt a message would have followed if oppor- 
tunity had been given.” 

Annette sat gazing at her visitor in silence. 

“ You need not be surprised or frightened at the 
idea, my dear,” Miss Towne continued. “I have 
known of many such instances in my experience as a 
spirit medium. Such things are not at all uncom- 
mon. When survivors really desire to receive mes- 
sages from, and to hold communication with, their 
dear ones in the spirit world, there is no difficulty in 
doing so, and the satisfaction is ^ery great.” 

l^ow Annette Bell had never heard much about 
what is generally denominated ‘‘ Spiritualism,” and 
the little which she had heard had not been favorable 
to belief. But why should this kindly-speaking, 
sympathetic lady seek to deceive her ? What motive 
could she have in so positively asserting her knowl- 
edge of these things? She was the first who had 
come to the sad heart with messages of condolence, 
and lier words were the more readily credited from 
the fact that her expressions of sympathy had 
wrought upon the young girl’s gratitude. 

‘‘If you wish to receive the message which your 
father is evidently anxious to impart, I can, I think, 
by working late in the shop to-night, give you my 
assistance on to-morrow evening. It is very exhaust- 
ing to my strength, but I am willing to endure 


A Visit of Condolence. 181 

mncli in the good work which has been given me 
to do.” 

‘‘ I am afraid,” stammered Annette, “ that it will 
not — ” 

‘‘ O, there is nothing to fear ! ” interrupted Miss 
Towne ; ‘‘ it is merely a question as to whether you 
wish to please your father, to hear from him again, 
as you said you wished you could do, to learn whether 
he approves of your coming here, of which you say 
you feel some doubt. It is simply this : Do you de- 
sire to hold communication with him, or refuse to 
comply with his wishes ? ” 

“ O, Miss Towne, I wish to please my father al- 
ways ! ” exclaimed Annette, bursting into tears. If 
you are sure — ■” 

“I cannot be more sure. I have given years to 
the work of comforting the mourning,” was answered 
with a caress. 

Annette leaned her head against her professed 
friend, and let her tears flow unrestrainedly. 

“ I must make one trifling stipulation, my dear child. 
You are to mention the subject to no one. There 
are some slight arrangements to be made. I will call 
early and attend to them. This must be the room. 
I have no doubt as to the result. Are you sure,” 
she went on hurriedly, ‘Hhat your love for your 
father will enable you to carry the matter 
through ? Are you sure that you wish to know his 
will?” 


182 


Words and Wats. 


I am sure I do, but — ” begau Annette, trem- 
blingly. 

“ Yery well, then, it is settled, and I will not delay 
you longer. Good-bye until to-morrow evening. Keep 
a brave heart, my love ; there is no reason for feel- 
ing at all nervous.” And kissing Annette tenderly, 
she took her leave. 

To describe Annette’s feelings during the remain- 
der of that day and the next would be impossible. 
She hoped and feared. She shrank from the secrecy, 
the bare mention of which should have been enough 
to warn her that all was not right. 

Mr. Bell had been a person of great candor and a 
strong advocate of straightforwardness and open 
dealing in all things, and had strenuously endeavored 
to inculcate in his children the principles by which 
he ruled his own conduct in his intercourse with 
others. 

If any thought of all this came to Annette she 
thrust it aside. She was in the deep waters of afflic- 
tion and hungry for consolation, while the disordered 
state of her nerves made her an easy prey to the de- 
signing, if such Miss Towne should prove to be. 

That lady called on the following afternoon, ac- 
cording to appointment, and requested Annette’s per- 
mission to arrange the room and “ test its spiritual 
occupancy before attempting the seance^ Annette 
gave her the key, and waited tremblingly in her own 
apartment until she should be called. She had told 


A Yisit of Condolence. 


183 


Fidelia and Lucy that she expected company in the 
evening, and requested them to keep the children 
with them. Lucy was glad to escape meeting visit- 
ors, and asked no troublesome questions ; but Fidelia 
glanced at the older sister inquiringly. Annette 
looked troubled, but made no further explanation, 
and Fidelia, true to her name, exerted herself to en- 
tertain the little ones, and they enjoyed a happier 
evening than they had known for weeks. The day- 
light faded and the stars came out one by one. Grim 
shadows fell about the house from the great trees 
near it ; and to Annette, sitting alone in the parlor, 
the silence became oppressive. But more oppressive 
still was the impression that now refused to be thrust 
aside, that she had agreed to take part in a proceed- 
ing which, were her father living, he would not ap- 
prove. She had a half-formed notion of drawing 
back even yet ; but Tvas it not too late ? If she only 
knew the truth about this doctrine in which Miss 
Towne seemed to believe so firmly ! Was it, indeed, 
true ? and, if true, might it not be the work of the 
powers of darkness ? But, on the other hand, she told 
herself, it might be true and right, and she lodged so 
sorely to hear something from the dear departed one. 
She was so lonely, so comfortless and unhappy, and 
Miss Towne was the only one who had sympathized 
with her and tried to comfort her. She forgot the 
faithful one who had served her father and his moth- 
erless children with disinterested kindness all those 


184: 


Words akd Ways. 


years, and whom she had now set aside for the ac- 
quaintance of a day. The time would come when she 
would remember the injunction : “ Thine own friend, 
and thy father’s friend, forsake not.” 

Again, there was a better Comforter than any 
earthly friend, had she but sought him. There were 
more tender words of consolation than any human 
lips could utter, had she but searched for them. 

‘‘For the Lord will not cast off forever: but 
though he cause grief, yet will he have compassion 
according to the multitude of his mercies. For he 
doth not afflict willingly, nor grieve the children of 
men.” Lam. iii, 31-33. 

The darkness deepened, and the clock on the man- 
tel ticked loudly in the silence. Then came a low 
tap at the door, and Annette went to open it, her 
hands shaking and her limbs trembling under her. 

“ Come, my dear,” said Miss Towne, re-assuringly, 
and putting her arm around the quivering form ; “ our 
friends are waiting. I am not sure that there will be 
a materialization to-night, but I feel confident that 
you will hear a voice.” 

Annette found her father’s room so metamor- 
phosed as to be scarcely recognizable. A thick cur- 
tain was hung before the bay-window, and the por- 
traits of her father and mother were covered with 
some heavy black stuff that showed only the outlines 
of the frames beneath. This struck Annette, even 
then, as somewhat incongruous, in view of Miss 


A Yisit of Condolence. 185 

Towne’s avowed appreciation of bright and cheerful 
associations. 

A single lamp was burning on the mantel, with 
the light turned low, leaving the room in dim shadow. 
Half a dozen persons were seated near the door. 
Aunette was shown to her place, and Miss Towne 
took her stand not far from the bay-window. 

Unbroken silence reigned for some time, and then 
the “ medium ” asked, in a low, thrilling tone : 

“ Do you not hear voices ? ” 

All listened attentively, and presently there seemed 
to come to Annette, from behind the curtain, an in- 
distinct, murmuring sound that gradually became 
more clear. The voice sounded strange and un- 
earthly to her ears. Then she heard her nearest 
neighbor whisper ; 

“ O, that is my brother’s voice ! I should know it 
among a hundred ! ” and she pressed her handkerchief 
to her eyes. The voice grew more and more distinct, 
and presently, in a kind of chanting tone, clearly 
came the words : “ The wall of separation is not thick 
and impenetrable, as you deem it. We walk beside 
you day by day. You may hear our voices if you 
listen, and if your faith were stronger we would ap- 
pear before you in our old familiar forms. Go on to 
perfection, and brighten your existence and ours by 
holding frequent communication with us. Farewell.” 

Annette shuddered. Could it be that she had in- 
deed heard a voice from the spirit world? Miss 


186 


WoEDS AND Ways. 


Towne sat down and leaned her head on her hand, as 
though prostrated with fatigue. After a time she 
again arose in the dim light. She turned up the 
lamp, and said : 

“ I wish to prove to all that no imposture is being 
perpetrated. You will please observe that the alcove 
is empty, and the window securely fastened.” 

She drew aside the curtain and invited examination. 
One or two went forward and returned apparently 
well satisfied. As for Annette, she felt unable to stir 
from the spot where she was sitting. 

“ JS’o chance for trickery there,” said one of the in- 
vestigators, as he passed her chair in returning to his 
place. 

Again the curtain was drawn and the lamp adjusted, 
and again the company waited in silence. 

‘‘ Listen ! ” said Miss Towne, suddenly, holding up 
her finger. Again came the indistinct murmur, grad- 
ually swelling. Then came the words ; 

“My daughter. My little woman so like her 
mother.” 

The voice sounded strange, but the words were 
very familiar to Annette Bell’s ears ; they were the 
very expressions which her father had been wont to 
use to her. 

“ You have done well,” the voice went on. “ You 
are with true friends. Trust them unreservedly.” 

It occurred to Annette, even at this critical junct- 
ure, that the voice was not only unlike her father’s, 


A Visit of Condolence. 18 Y 

but at times strikingly similar to that of tlie deceased 
brother of the lady at her side. Then there was si- 
lence,. and, though the listeners waited long, nothing 
more was heard. Miss Towne again turned up the 
light and came to Annette. 

“ My darling, you are not frightened, are you ? ” 

The girl was very pale, but she protested that she 
was not alarmed. 

“ Tlien, if you would like, we will try again, and per- 
haps the result may be more satisfactory. If we can 
secure materialization it will be likely to take place in 
the bay-window, and I would like to make the spot 
secure from any chance of intrusion from without as 
well as to take precaution against any possible sus- 
picion of imposture. Can you get me a strong pad- 
lock, my dear, that we may doubly secure the 
shutters ? ” • 

Annette went out and stealthily obtained the lock 
which was used in fastening the store-room, which 
opened on the back porch and was carefully guarded 
by Fidelia. She knew it would leave the supplies 
exposed, but there seemed no alternative. On her 
return Miss Towne beckoned her to the window, and 
she saw the hasp of the lock passed through the 
staple. The key was turned in the socket, and then 
returned to her keeping. She observed again that the 
recess was quite empty, but for the table which had 
stood before the portraits. It, too, was draped in a 
heavy black cover, not long enough, however, to con- 


188 


Words akd Ways. 


ceal any thing beneath, and the vase of flowers was 
placed upon it as before. 

“ That is all, I believe,” said Miss Towne, looking 
around with a weary air, “ unless, my dear, you have 
some little trinkets, gifts from your father which you 
might wear to-night to please him.” 

“ I have my bracelets and my watch and chain, but 
papa said I was not to wear them until I come of 
age,” answered Annette. 

“ Then do not wear them under any consideration. 
Study bis wishes completely,” said Miss Towne, fer- 
vently. 

Annette went back to her chair. The light was 
softened as before, and Miss Towne again took her 
stand beside the curtain. A long silence followed. 
Then the curtain trembled slightly as though the 
wind were blowing on it. The medium stood with 
folded arms looking at Annette. There was an- 
other interval of waiting, then again the swaying 
of the curtain, and then a tall, white figure slowly 
emerged into the dim light. The face was concealed, 
but Annette saw a hand extended and heard the 
words : 

“ My daughter, come to me.” 

She rose and went forward without hesitation. A 
hand that was like her father’s took one of hers, while 
the other was laid on her head, just as her father’s 
had been in his last farewell. Then she was gently 
released and she tottered back and sank into her chair. 


A Yisit of Condolence. 


189 


The figure retreated as slowly as it had appeared, with 
the countenance still hidden. Then, as it passed out 
of sight, it seemed to turn, and through an open- 
ing in the folds of the curtain Annette distinctly 
saw a face — her father’s face — she could not be mis- 
taken. 


190 


Words and Ways. 


CHAPTER XYII. 


AN INTRUDER AT THE SEANCE. 


“ And when they shall say unto you, Seek unto them that have 
familiar spirits, and unto wizards that peep and that mutter : should 
not a people seek unto their God ? for the living to the dead ? ” — 
Isa. viii, 19. 


HERE was little sleep for Annette Bell on the 



i night of the incidents related in our last chapter, 
and she rose nervous and pale on the following morn- 
ing. She had no appetite, and when she heard Lucy 
announce that the stwe-room padlock was not to be 
found, and that some one had carried off two can- 
vassed hams and a jar of preserved pears, she listened 
in guilty silence. 

She could not doubt that she had received a revela- 
tion, but was she any happier than before ? 

Charlie and Burton sent a letter stating that they 
could not return for a few days longer, and the 
younger children were disappointed and found the 
days that followed very dull indeed ; for Fidelia could 
not always give her time to them, and the older sister 
who had formerly exerted herself for their comfort, 
now sat silent and absorbed, seldom speaking unless 
addressed. 

Fidelia’s keen eye saw that there was something 


An Intruder at the Seance. 191 

more upon her mind than her father’s death, heavy 
as that burden was. And now the perplexed girl 
began to hear voices in the night. At first she could 
distinguish no words, and then she knew that a voice 
said : 

“ My daughter, if you love me still and trust me 
entirely, give me back the gifts which I have be- 
stowed on you, and receive something better and far 
more valuable in return, in token that your confidence 
is not misplaced.” 

These words were spoken three times and made a 
deep impression on their hearer. This message, fol- 
lowing what she had already heard and seen, affected 
her so much that at last she took her bracelets, watch, 
and chain to Mrs. Towne and requested her to take 
them and return them. Miss Towne earnestly re- 
fused to accept the trust. 

‘‘ O, by no means, my dear child. I could not 
think of taking the responsibility,” she exclaimed. 
“ Perhaps you are mistaken. The message may have 
been only the work of your imagination.” 

Annette protested that this was impossible. She 
had heard the words three times distinctly on two 
different occasions. 

“ Then wait, my dear,” answered Miss Towne. “ If 
it is a true message, you may know. You can test it 
at our next s^ance^ by placing the articles on the table 
beside the vase. If they are demanded, he will take 
them away.” 


192 


WoEDs AND Ways. 


Annette was obliged to be content with this ar- 
rangement, and the following evening was set for the 
next meeting. In the meantime Annette carried 
the key to the window-lock and Miss Towne the 
door key, for, as the latter said, there must be no 
risk of any skeptical person entering within the 
sacred walls, or the spirits might refuse to materialize, 
again. 

The time seemed to drag slowly until the evening 
came for the new manifestation. 

Fidelia was informed that Miss Towne and some 
friends were again coming to spend the evening. 

“ I am afraid that Miss Towne and her friends are 
doing you no good, my poor child,” said Fidelia, in 
her motherly way. 

Annette answered a little impatiently : 

“Well, perhaps this is the last time. I will not 
trouble you with the children to-morrow night.” 

“ I am not troubled with the children ; it is you 
about whom I am troubled,” answered the faithful 
friend. 

Then Annette broke down and cried heartily, and 
clung to the one who was, indeed, the truest earthly 
friend near her. 

“ I wish I could tell you every thing, Fidelia, but 
I can’t now ; please wait a little while,” she begged. 

“ Those who are gone were not afraid to trust me,” 
was answered. 

“ Neither am I afraid to trust you,” answered An- 


193 


An Intruder at thl Seance. 

nette ; “ but I can’t tell you now. Please have patience 
with rae for a little while.” 

So Fidelia proposed making molasses candy, and 
Annette knew that the children would give her no 
trouble for that evening. She had told Fidelia that 
she could not tell her now, but O, how earnestly she 
longed to confide in some one and ask for advice. 
There was one feature of the revelation which had 
proved so unsatisfactory. The figure which she had 
seen was tall, like the form of her father ; the face 
was his, she knew ; the gestures and the language 
were his own, but the voice was as unlike his as 
possible. 

Could it be that she was laboring under some de- 
lusion ? But, then. Miss Towne semed so honest, so 
earnest and sincere ! And then, how could she her- 
self be so deceived ? She would have an opportunity 
of seeing and hearing again to-night, and she cer- 
tainly would not be misled a second time if what she 
had seen and heard was all the work of imagination. 

She would not wear the bracelets and the watch 
and chain ; Miss Towne had told her always to con- 
sult her father’s known wishes. That surely was good 
advice, and she would try to follow it ; but she would 
take them with her and place them on the table, as 
Miss Towne had suggested. If the words she had 
heard had come from her father, then he would re- 
move them and leave, instead, the more valuable gift 

which had been promised. If not, no possible harm 
13 


19i: 


WoEDs Ai^D Ways. 


could come* to them with the shutters securely locked 
and the key in her own possession. 

Thus Annette argued to herself, and yet she was 
not wholly satisfied. 

The darkness deepened and the rain began to fall. 
Perhaps they might not come to-night. One moment 
she hoped that they would not, and the next she 
feverishly longed to hear their coming. Suddenly 
she heard the click of the gate-latch and she could 
not have told whether she was glad or sorry. Foot- 
steps sounded on the paved walk, and then the door- 
bell rang. She knew it was not Miss Towne and her 
friends, for they would have gone quietly to the room 
where the meeting was to be held. 

Annette hurried out to answer the bell with a half- 
conscious feeling as one escaping from close pursuit. 
As she approached the door she saw a man’s figure, 
and when she stepped into the hall she recognized 
the well known face of Arthur Clark. The sight of 
his face did her good like a medicine. She knew, 
from his quiet, tender greeting, that he knew of her 
great loss, yet his manner was hearty and cheerful. 

Arthur had always been a great favorite with the 
Bell family, and Augusta used to say that he cared 
more for them than he did for her. He brought 
messages from Charlie and Burton, having left Plain- 
ville after they arrived. Knowing their trouble and 
loneliness, he had stopped over one train on his way to 
a distant city, and the sight of his kind, familiar face. 


An Intkudek at the Seance. 195 

together with tidings and loving messages from old 
friends, gave Annette such comfort as she had not 
thought it possible for her to feel, and yet the tears 
were gathering, and she could not keep them back. 

“I am so glad you have come, we have been so 
lonely and unhappy,’’ she said. 

‘‘Well, we must not give way to loneliness,” an- 
swered the young man. “ As for your father, we 
may not sorrow for him and mourn his departure. 
We know that it is well with him; that in the 
employments and enjoyments of heaven he would 
not wish to return to earth, and we should cultivate 
a love that is too disinterested to desire it.” 

There was that in her friend’s manner and words 
which prompted Annette to confide in him without 
reserve. He listened attentively to all she had to 
tell him, and then said, quietly : 

“We will talk more by and by, Annette. Yon 
need tell no one of my coming yet. I am going up 
to Mr. Newman’s for a little while. I will be with 
you again presently. Wait here until I return.” 

He did not return as soon as Annette hoped he 
would do, but he came back before Miss Towne and 
her friends arrived. He had offered no remarks in 
listening to Annette’s narrative, although he had 
given the most earnest attention, and she wondered 
what he would have to say. 

“ Mr. Arthur, do you believe in spirits ? ” she asked, 
when he was again seated beside her. 


196 


Words and Wats. 


‘‘ Most certainly I do,” was the prompt answer. 
“ and I am going to the secmce with you to-night. 
You will deposit your watch and bracelets on the 
table, as you have been directed. All will be well, I 
think,” he added, assuringly ; and then he talked of 
other matters, telling her many things about her old 
home that he knew would interest her, talking 
quietly, yet cheerfully; and the time passed un- 
heeded until Miss Towne tapped at the door to call 
Annette. 

“ Come, my dear,” she said ; and Annette and her 
friend passed out. Miss Towne looked surprised and 
not entirely pleased to see the gentleman, but civilly 
gave him a seat near to the door. Then she drew 
aside the curtain and displayed the recess containing 
only the table mth its vase of flowers. Annette 
went forward and placed her watch and bracelets 
beside the floral offering. 

Miss Towne protested a little. “ Perhaps it would 
be better to wait. You may have been mistaken.” 
But Annette said that if she had been mistaken it 
would make no difference, and went back to her seat, 
leaving the gifts on the table. 

Then the curtain was drawn and the medium re- 
quested a friend in the audience to turn down the 
light, and took her place at one side of the curtain 
at a little distance, with her arms folded, as usual. 
Then there was the waiting, and then the curtain 
swayed gently, as it had done on the previous occasion. 


An Intruder at the Seance. 19Y 

Miss Towne coughed, as though a draught of wind 
had reached her lungs. Again the curtain trembled, 
and the medium gave another little cough, and 
glanced toward the spot with a slight, impatient 
movement of her head that was scarcely perceptible. 
The folds of the curtain swayed for a moment and 
then fell to their places. 

Annette was gazing at the spot in a passionate way, 
when suddenly she started. What had happened ? 
Arthur Clark had turned up the light, and making a 
few quick, noiseless strides, drew back the curtain 
and revealed — not a materialized spirit, but a real 
man of flesh and blood, just in the act of grasping 
the bracelet and the watch and chain. 

The window stood wide open, the shuttei’s were 
thrown back, and the drawn-out staple was hanging 
from the padlock. The man made a quick dash for 
the opening, and succeeded in passing through with 
his booty ; but there followed the sound of voices and 
struggling from outside, and then Mr. hTewman was 
heard to say : 

‘‘We have caught the bird, Arthur.” 

A moment later an officer of the law entered, and, 
returning the stolen articles taken from the prisoner, 
proceeded to arrest his confederate. Miss Towne, on 
the charge of being an accomplice in the crime of 
obtaining goods on false pretenses. Miss Towne 
started back on hearing these words. 

The impostor stood transformed into her real char- 


198 


Words and Ways. 


acter. She fixed her evil eyes on the face of the 
young girl whom she had so grossly deceived. 

‘‘ You little traitor ! ’’ she exclaimed, menacingly, 
almost hissing the words between her teeth, “ I would 
like to punish you for your treachery.” 

Annette, stunned and bewildered by this strange 
development, made no answer by word or sign. The 
other persons present dispersed as quickly as possible, 
some of them protesting their entire innocence in the 
matter, and ignorance of the fraud. 

An examination of the room disclosed the fact that 
Mr. Bell’s portrait had been taken from the frame 
and hidden under the table-cover. This, then, was the 
face which Annette had seen through the folds of 
the curtain, and this also explained the reason for the 
veiling of the pictures. All this was very plain now, 
and it almost seemed to Annette as if she had lent 
herself to the deceit, so grossly had she permitted 
herself to be imposed upon. But if she had been 
selfish and credulous in her grief, had she not been 
sorely punished ? 

As the meeting had closed early, the picture was 
replaced in its frame and the room restored to its 
former condition, and then Annette went to find 
Fidelia and the children, and a pleasant evening was 
spent by all. The padlock was duly returned to the 
door of the store-room, and an end put to further 
depredations tn that quarter. 

At the first opportunity Annette confessed the 


An Intettder at the Seance. 199 

whole matter to Fidelia, and told her how near she 
had come to losing her father’s gifts, and having 
nothing in return except the loss and mortification. 

Fidelia was almost speechess with indignation. 

“ It is well that you escaped them ! ” she exclaimed, 
when she could find words ; “ the heartless tricksters ! 
To think of their playing their game on a family that 
has just met with affliction." But that is their way, 
the miserable impostors ! ” 

“ But I cannot understand how Miss Towne knew 
so much about papa and every thing,” said Annette. 

“ I’ll venture she drew most of it from yourself, 
poor dear,” answered the wise old woman, patting 
the girl’s shoulder. “Well, child, let it pass. You 
will know them better next time.” 

A dainty supper was prepared for the guest, and 
Lonnie, insisting on drinking his tea with “ Cousin 
Arthur,” as he called him, fell asleep over his plate, 
and was carried ofi to bed by Fidelia; and then they 
gathered in the parlor and talked and listened until 
the clock warned them that it was late and time to 
go to rest. 

So ended Annette Bell’s first and last experience 
with the spiritualists. She had learned that the 
smoothest tongue is not always an index to the kindest 
heart, and that a show of candor is sometimes mere 
pretense ; but, above all, she had learned from her own 
experience and the conversation on the subject, that 
those who claim to deal with the supernatural are 


200 


Words and Ways. 


impostors, and that real investigation readily exposes 
the frauds by which they make dupes of their fellow- 
creatures. 

With childish timidity little Romie had begged 
them not to talk about “ghosts” so near bed-time, 
and so the subject was touched upon lightly ; but on 
the following morning Annette spoke of the appa- 
rition which Charlie had seen on the night of leaving 
Plain ville, and said she supposed it was some one.*’^ 

“Yes, that it was,” replied Fidelia, who had never 
heard the story before. “It was Eph himself. I 
heard him telling about wrapping himself in a sheet 
from the bed in order to frighten a burglar, as he 
supposed it was, whom he heard prowling about the 
house.” 

“ And the burglar was Charlie,” laughed Lucy. 

Here, then, was another case explained, and Arthur 
went on relating and explaining incidents which, at 
the time, seemed to the actors in them wholly unac- 
countable, but which were afterward found to be the 
most commonplace occurrences conceivable. Among 
others, he told the children of a gentleman who was 
lodging one night among strangers, and was awak- 
ened and startled by a noise as of thunder. Rising 
hastily, he thought he saw a tall white figure standing 
not far from his bed. 

“Who are you?” he demanded. Ho answer came, 
and he advanced a little toward the seeming intruder, 
who looked fearfully gigantic. 


An Intruder at the Seance. 201 

On calling out again and receiving no reply, he 
seized a chair and hurled it with all his might in the 
direction of the tall white object. He was not a little 
startled that no sound came back. It was as if the 
apparition was indeed immaterial, and the- chair had 
passed into space. A little closer investigation dis- 
closed the fact that such was really the case. The 
old chimney had fallen down, and that was the noise 
which had awakened him, while the opening in the 
wall, admitting the starlight, was the tall white ghost 
which had so startled him. 

My reader, never allow yourself to be deluded by 
supernatural appearances or by supernatural stories. 
There is a key to all such mysteries. As for “spirit- 
mediums,” so-called, their fraudulent conduct has 
been so often exposed that no person belonging to 
this class of impostors should ever be able to deceive 
an intelhgent person. 


202 


WoEDs AND Ways. 


CHAPTER XYIII. 

“AN INNOCENT GAME OF EUCHRE.” 

“ Let us not therefore judge one another any more : but judge this 
rather, that no man put a stumbling-block or an occasion to fall in his 
brother’s way.” — Rom. xiv, 13. 

T he change in the weather prognosticated by Mr. 

Jeffreys did not take place as soon as he had pre- 
dicted, but it came before the needful repairs had 
been made at the old Rectory, and its advent proved 
\ more serious matter to the boys and girls who lived 
here than they could have imagined. 

“ I am glad that the carpenters did not tear off the 
roof to-day,” said Charlie, one evening, as the clouds 
seemed to be marshaling their forces for a general 
outpouring. 

“ Luck in leisure,” responded Burton, quoting his 
favorite saw, as he fastened the shutters of their 
room. “ There is sure to be some more fine weather 
after awhile.” 

The hour was late, and the inmates of the old house 
were soon in a deep sleep. The doors and windows 
had been carefully secured in view of the threatening 
storm, and so they slept undisturbed. The rain dashed 
against the shutters like sleet, and poured down for 
hours without intermission, but the young people 


“An Innocent Game of Euchee.” 203 

were sound sleepers, and Fidelia, partially deaf, was 
“ lying on her good ear,” as she afterward said, and 
so for a time all slept on. 

For a time, I say; for after awhile there was a 
general commotion. Fidelia was awakened by a pat- 
tering on her forehead, and on opening her eyes saw 
a light in the children’s room. On going to inves- 
tigate matters she saw an extraordinary spectacle. 
Romie and Lonnie were in a corner with water-proof 
cloaks spread over them. Lucy was sitting up in bed 
with a shawl around her and holding an umbrella 
over her head, while Annette, wrapped in a blanket, 
was occupying an arm-chair which she shifted from 
one spot to another from time to time. 

The scene would have been highly amusing but 
for the extreme discomfort which prevailed. Fidelia 
proceeded at once to find out whether there was a 
dry spot in the house, and succeeded in finding one 
room on the ground floor to which the water had not 
yet penetrated. She lighted the fire, and then went 
back to the children. 

“You will find a dry place in your papa’s room,” 
she announced. Making a large pallet not far from 
the fire, she carried the two sleepers one by one, and 
soon had the satisfaction of seeing all comparatively 
comfortable. 

“Row I must go and look after those boys,” she 
said to herself. “They will just lie there and drown, 
and never know what the matter is.” 


204 


Words and Wats. 


Taking the lamp she made her way cautiously uj) 
the wet staircase and through the dripping rooms and 
passages. 

“Just as I expected,” she said, on reaching tlic 
sleepers. Charlie was covered head and ears in 
well-soaked blanket, while Burton was tucking his 
head under the wet sheet, vainly trying in his sleep to 
escape from the water that poured upon him in little 
trickling streams. 

“ Charlie, Burton, get up — get up ! ” exclaimed 
Fidelia, shaking them both. Charlie started up, but 
Burton tucked his head ostrich -wise further under 
the sheet. 

“ Fidelia, I didn’t think you would throw water 
on a fellow before he had time to get up,” grumbled 
Charlie, in a tone of touching reproach. And then 
some vigorous drops in his face brought him to a full 
consciousness of the situation. 

“ Just light our lamp if you can, and then go and 
see that the children do not float away, Fidelia,” he 
said. “ I’ll try and get Burt out of this by and by. 
He thinks there is luck in leisure, you know,” he 
added, grimly. 

The utter discomfort which attended and followed 
the rain can be better imagined than described. It con- 
tinued for several days, and dampness prevailed almost 
every- where. Then there came a few bright days, 
which were hailed with much satisfaction. The house 
was thrown open to the drying, cheering beams, and 


“An Innocent Game of Euchre.’’ 205 

after a time the rooms were, with the aid of fires, 
restored to a degree of the comfort which they had 
formerly known. Still clouds occasionally reared 
their heads above the horizon, and Fidelia expressed 
the opinion that they were the scouts of another 
storm. That storm was not very long in coming. It 
came one day when Eunice Lothay was visiting Lucy, 
thereby causing the latter much trouble. 

The girls had been so busy with their dolls and a 
grand two-storied play-house that contained dolls’ fur- 
niture, that they did not notice the approach of the 
rain until it was coming down heavily. I^ow, as my 
reader has seen, Lucy was a foolishly sensitive girl, 
and the thought of the leaky roof destroyed all her 
happiness in a moment. 

We should never allow ourselves to be unduly mor- 
tified and humiliated about that over which we have 
no control ; and we should study to think of our- 
selves as little as possible, except in so far as this is 
necessary in order to guard against wrong-doing, and 
to cultivate right feeling and conduct. Those who 
are constaiflly gauging their standing in the opinions 
of others doom themselves to much unnecessary dis- 
comfort and trouble. 

As soon as Lucy saw the rain pouring down, she 
proposed to her companion that they should move the 
play-house into another room. 

“O no,” protested Eunice. “We have just got 
every thing nicely fixed, and we cannot move with-' 


206 


WoEDS AJSTD Ways. 


out disarranging every thing. I hate moving. Be- 
sides, it is only poor people who live in old ruinous 
tenement houses that move.” 

Lucy winced a little at this statement, and gave up 
the point, knowing well that it was of no use to press 
the matter further ; but she rolled her eyes up toward 
the ceiling every now and then in a way that was 
very puzzling to her companion. She hoped sincerely 
that her visitor would take her leave before the water 
should trickle down into the room, as she had reason 
to remember its having done on the former occasion. 
But it did not seem probable that this inhospitable 
wish should be gratified. Eunice was very much 
interested in her play and took no notice of the 
rain. 

Theodora was the most handsomely dressed 
young lady at the sea-side,” she said, mincingly, as 
she shook out the flounces of her doll’s dress. “ And 
she received a great deal of attention. I was quite 
gratified.” 

A wiser listener would have wondered from what 
silly older person the little girl had picked up her 
foolish, self-complacent remarks. But Lucy scarcely 
heard them, so intently was she watching for the first 
signs of that distressing leak. At last, to her con- 
sternation, they appeared. 

A less conscious child would have unhesitatingly 
spoken of the matter, and two natural children, 
unstamped with artificial ideas and opinions, would 


‘‘An Innocent Game of Euchke.” 207 

have extracted no small amount of enjoyment out of 
the situation by means of an umbrella and a little 
healthy imagination. But the foolish hostess was as 
uncomfortable as though the tiny stream trickling 
slowly toward the devoted comer along the ceiling, 
and momently re-enforced drop by drop, had been 
scalding hot, and about to be followed by a perfect 
deluge of the same temperature. 

O dear ! It would soon begin to drop just were 
Eunice was sitting with Theodora, telling about the 
latter’s “ beautiful, elegant sea-side costumes and ball- 
room dresses,” with parrot-like vivacity. 

“What if it should drop on Eunice’s handsome 
sash, or “ Theodora’s lovely pink silk that she wore at 
the opening hop ? ” 

Lucy, in spite of the dilemma, wondered vague- 
ly whether the hop was the same one-foot-exercise 
which she and Augusta Clark used to practice down 
the garden walk to the pear-tree and back again. 
But there was no time for questions or conjectures. 
The terrible drops could not long hang suspended as 
they now seemed to do. Something must be done, 
and done quickly. Leaving her guest abruptly, Lucy 
went out into the hall, and presently came back with 
a big umbrella. She astounded her visitor by saying : 

“ I will put it up and haA^e it ready for you. It is 
raining, and you will want to go home before very 
long.” 

She sat down and held it over Eunice and Theo- 


208 


Words and Ways. 


dora. What a nice tent it would have made, and 
what fun they could have had under their pavilion ! 
But no, Eunice not unnaturally construed Lucy’s 
words and actions into a very broad hint to take her 
departure, and forthwith flung herself out of the 
room, and walked out into the rain with Theodora 
without so much as saying good-bye, leaving the as- 
tounded Lucy sitting under the big umbrella alone. 

Annette, who had witnessed the departure from an 
upper window, came to ask why Lucy had not given 
her visitor an umbrella. Seeing her sister’s tears she 
forebore to question her about the matter, so Lucy 
was spared an explanation. She spoke to Fidelia 
about it, however. 

‘‘ I don’t know what the trouble was,” answered 
that worthy, “ but it is my opinion her going is no 
loss if Lucy is in any danger of taking up with the 
silly stuff which she has got from her mother, I 
reckon. That child Eunice is no good. In my day 
children were children, but now they put on all the 
airs and talk all the silly nonsense of grown-up folks. 
To hear that little chit babbling about ‘ ball dresses 
and walking costumes and gentleman dolls ’ is enough 
to make one sick. And it is even worse than that. 
Only the other day I heard her talking about ‘ an 
infant doll’s christening robe.’ Why, child, that is 
blasphemous. To teach or allow children to make a 
play of the solemn rite of baptism is a sin that some- 
body will be called to answer for. And children 


Innocent Game of Euchre.” 209 

don’t enjoy tliemselves now nearly as inucli as we 
used to do, with our one rag-baby doll, neither,” 
added Fidelia, musingly, as she went back to the 
kitchen. 

But if the good old woman congratulated herself 
on the absence of the girl whose speech and manner 
she pronounced “ no good,” her congratulations were 
cut short. A few days later she came again, bring- 
ing invitations from her mother to a grand party to 
be given in honor of the return of her brothers from 
school. Charlie, Burton, Annette, and Lucy were all 
included in the invitation, and the question of accept- 
ance or non-acceptance was freely discussed at the old 
Kectory. The boys decided to attend, and Annette 
advised Lucy to go with them, though she said she 
did not care to go herself. 

“ I should not enjoy myself in such a gay crowd,” 
she said, thinking of their recent bereavement. 

“ But Mrs. Lothay says a ‘ quiet affair.’ It is only 
Miss Nicey who makes it out a grand party,” said 
Burton. 

Annette shook her head. 

“ Well, quiet or not, /am not going,” said Lucy, 
decidedly. 

“ Why not ? ” asked her brother Charlie. 

‘‘ Because I am the most unlucky person that ever 
lived,” answered the little girl. “ I am always get- 
ting into some kind of a scrape when I am trying as 

hard as ever I can to do my very best.” 

14 


210 


WoEDS AND Ways 


“ Any thing new ? ’’ asked Burt. 

“ Why, the very last time I was at Mrs. Lothay’s I 
felt as if my sash was untying, and I tried to look 
round to see, and I stumbled over the footstool and 
spilled my saucer of strawberries and cream in Miss 
Osgood’s lap, and all over the carpet.” 

Burton laughed, but Charlie said : 

“ Poor Lu ! you do seem to get into dilemmas 
somehow, but I wouldn’t mind. All people have 
their ups and downs.” 

“ I am not going,” persisted Lucy. “ I don’t want 
to go anywhere or see any body — unless I could see 
Mrs. Clark and Gussie,” she added, sadly. 

A silence fell on the group. They were thinking 
of old friends and old times. Charlie was the first 
to speak again. 

“ Come now, girls, we must not be morbid or self- 
ish. There are friends to be found every-where, and 
if we want to have friends we must be friendly,” he 
said. 

But the appointed evening came, and only Charlie 
and Burton availed themselves of the invitation, 
making such excuses as they were able to Mrs. Lothay, 
for the absence of their sisters. 

The party proved to be rather a large one, and was 
altogether a new experience to the two boys. They 
had reason long afterward to remember their intro- 
duction into ‘‘society.” 

On the following morning, as the young Bells were 


“ An Innocent Game of Euchre.” 211 

at breakfast, Burton was recounting the enjoyments 
of the occasion in glowing language. 

“ It is too bad you missed the party, girls ; it was a 
splendid affair,” he said. There were lots of grown- 
up people there, and they treated us juveniles as if 
we were as old as any of them.” 

“ I wish I could have gone,” said Komie. 

“You!” laughed her brother; “what would you 
have done there ? ” 

“ Why, whatever the rest did,” answered the little 
girl, stoutly. What did they do ? ” 

“ O they promenaded and danced and played 
euchre,” answered Burton, avoiding Annette’s eye. 

“ O, I should have lemonaded if I had been there ! ” 
put in Lonnie,' mistaking the word which his brother 
had used. “ Why didn’t you bring me some ? ” 

“ Some what ? ” Burton asked. 

“ Some lemonade,” answered the little fellow. 

“O they didn’t have lemonade, they had wine,” 
replied Burton. 

“Wine and cards!” exclaimed Annette, laying 
down her knife and fork ; “ is it possible ? ” 

“Yes,” answered Charlie, speaking for the first 
time ; “ I was a good deal surprised at first. But Mrs. 
Osgood and her daughter were there, and Miss Ful- 
ton, and Mr. Leland, and ever so many more good 
people. Of course there was no drunkenness, nor 
gambling, and Mrs. Lothay says that, by a rational use 
of such pleasures in her own home, she guards against 


212 


Words and Ways. 


the abuse of them in undesirable places by her boys. 
She says there is no shadow of harm in a glass of 
wine or a game of euchre. Eugene beat Mr. Watson, 
a gentleman from I^ew York, in three games in suc- 
cession, and both he and Edgar drink as much wine 
as they please.” 

‘‘ They are real nice fellows, and will be a great ad- 
dition to Pleasant Hill,” said Burton. 

‘‘ What are you looking so solemn about, Hettie ? ” 
asked Charlie. 

The sister blushed and hesitated before reply- 
ing. 

“O, Het expects to see us full-fledged gamblers 
and sots, forthwith,” laughed Bm'ton. “Well, I’ll 
confess I didn’t quite like the sight of the card- 
table myself at flrst,” he went on. “ I felt 
as if I had made a mistake and had got into some 
place where I had no business to be. But Miss 
Osgood played, and you know she is a church mem- 
ber. She asked me to play and offered to teach me. 
She said she thought it was foolish to be afraid of an 
innocent game of euchre. I thought if it was no 
harm for her, it wouldn’t hurt me, so I let her show 
me, and I had beat her handsomely before we had 
done,” he concluded, laughing. 

“ What would mamma — what would papa say ? ” 
stammered Annette. 

“ O I don’t know,” answered Charlie, “ as they 
would either of them object to our doing as others do 


“An Innocent Game of Euchke.’^ 213 

at a private party. It isn’t like going to a saloon and 
drinking, or to a gaming establishment and betting 
on the cards. Besides, I once heard papa say that 
some of our reformers deserved to be called intem- 
perate themselves because they were so bent on com- 
pelling every body to fall into their way of thinking 
in all respects. He said that they did harm.” 

Ah, if Mr. Bell had suspected that a single remark 
made to an old friend in discussing methods of re- 
form would have been treasured up and thus misap- 
plied by one of his sons, he would have been more 
guarded in his language. Yet, had that son but re- 
flected thoughtfully and striven to recall other utter- 
ances of his departed parent, he might have remem- 
bered words which would have been to him and his 
brothers and sisters a voice of earnest warning against 
the dangerous, flowery, serpent-haunted path thus 
suddenly opened before their feet. 

An innocent game of euchre ! A harmless glass of 
wine ! A polite avoidance of the egotism of pecul- 
iarity, of setting up our opinion in opposition to the 
views of the assembled company ! An amiable sub- 
mission to the necessity of being all things to all 
men ! Such are the specious arguments that are 
strewn thickly along the way that leads from “ home 
pleasures ” to the dens of darkness and destruction. 

Countless numbers, deceived by such sophistry, 
have taken the initiative in their own homes or the 
homes of friends, and have closed their careers in 


214 


Words and Ways. 


tlie drinking and gambling saloons that are ever 
waiting the completion of such a course of training as 
fits young men for falling into their snares. 

Had the experiment never been tried of saving 
the young by introducing them to the labyrinths of 
perdition, or had it succeeded even in a large mi- 
nority of cases, there would be more excuse for the 
imminent risk which it entails ; but experience has 
recorded the incontrovertible fact that the indulgence 
in both games of chance and intoxicating drinks is 
“ as the letting out of water.” 

Some exceptions do not disprove the rule, and the 
risk of even one soul being lost in the whirlpool of 
either sin is a risk too fearfully great to be encount- 
ered, and if the fact that certain customs are fashion- 
able in polite society in any community is held as 
sufficient reason for their introduction, and their non- 
observance is a breach of good breeding, then those 
who prefer the society of heaven to that of the world 
of darkness will wisely eschew “ good society ” in 
this probationary state. 


“Seeing Life.” 


215 


CHAPTEE XIX. 

“SEEING LIFE.” 

“ Enter not into the path of the wicked, and go not in the way of 
evil men.” — Prov. iv, 14. 

T he party given by Mrs. Lotliay on the return of 
her sons from school was the beginning of a new 
era to the young folks at the old Eectory. They were 
ushered into a world that was to them not less novel 
than delightful, and the old-time pleasures of home 
and school appeared flat and tasteless compared with 
the gayeties of suppers and card parties. 

It was some time before Annette would consent to 
be present at any of these festivities ; but Mrs. 
Lothay at last set very plainly before her the so- 
called duties which the girl owed to herself and to 
society, and exacted from her a promise to attend tlie 
next party given at her house. 

“ My dear,” she said, “ you are now a young lady, 
and it is your manifest duty to bear your share of the 
burdens which society imposes. We are all social 
beings, you know, and all have our duties to per- 
form.” 

Many of Mrs. Lothay’s arguments were very true 
and reasonable, and so Annette ^received them, and 
moreover received with them a considerable amount 


216 Words and Ways. 

of sophistry which was skillfully interlarded with the 
truth. 

“ Do you dance, my dear ? ITo ? I am surprised. 
With your figure you would excel in the art. And 
I assure you it is an art — one of the fine arts. Danc- 
ing is one of the most important branches of social 
culture, and no one can expect to move in good society 
who is ignorant of it. O you must learn without loss 
of time. I am just organizing a class to be drilled by 
an experienced teacher. Professor Lankton, and I shall 
put your name on the list. I assure you we cannot 
spare you. Society needs all who are fitted to move 
in the front ranks. We can all aid in holding back 
those who are tempted to indulge in objectionable 
amusements and frequent objectionable places. Be- 
sides you owe it to yourself not to make a recluse of 
yourself at your age. Good-morning. I will let you 
know punctually about the dancing class.” 

Mrs. Lothay swept out in her stately way, leaving 
Annette no time to protest even if she had had the 
courage to do so. The words and manner of the tall, 
graceful lady were of that overruling character that 
calls for a very decided effort if it is to be withstood, 
and Annette’s youth and inexperience were no match 
for the worldly wisdom of her friend. 

It was not without misgivings that she reported the 
matter to her brothers, and she was, perhaps, a trifle 
relieved to learn that they had been “ swooped down 
on, too,” as Burt laughingly expressed it. 


“Seeing Life.” 


217 


“ O well, when we are in Kome we must do as the 
Romans do,” he added; and so this mischievous maxim 
was substituted for the law which should have ruled 
the conduct of these young lives : “ Stand ye in the 
ways, and see, and ask for the old paths, where is the 
good way, and walk therein, and ye shall find rest for 
your souls.” Jer. vi, 16. 

The young people of whom I am telling you had 
been brought up in a different atmosphere from that 
wliich they were now learning to breathe, but they 
heard from time to time that the world was advancing 
and that the “ old ways ” were too narrow and an- 
tiquated. Ah ! our Saviour has told us of the broad 
way and the narrow way, and has bidden us to choose 
the latter. 

But there were persons professing to be disciples 
of Christ to be found in the ball-room and at the 
card-table, and should those who were not Christians 
condemn their behavior as sinful, or fear to follow 
where they led ? 

And yet, in spite of this specious reasoning, this 
young girl and her brothers could not, at first, lose 
sight of the revolting association that linked a 
pack of cards in their minds with the vilest and 
lowest haunts and characters of which they had ever 
heard. 

The dancing seemed less objectionable, more high- 
toned in its character, and, to Annette’s mind, tlie 
argument that to be without this accomplishment was 


218 


Words and Ways. 


to be awkward, uncultivated, and unfit for good soci- 
ety, had considerable weight. 

Annette Bell was not the first who has entered 
upon this giddy, fascinating amusement to avoid 
being eccentric. Once entered upon, there seldom 
needs any further argument in its favor. The intoxi- 
cating motion, the lights, the music, the nameless ex- 
hilaration that has frequently enabled delicate young 
girls, who have been scarcely able to walk, to dance 
for hours without intermission, furnish their own 
commentary. And if the wine-cup and the card-table 
open the way to death, moral, spiritual, and physical, 
to multitudes, what shall we say of the dance ? Phy- 
sicians claim that the exercise, especially as it is usu- 
ally practiced, is far from being a healthy one. But, 
laying aside the question of its physical effects and 
viewing it from an intellectual and moral stand-point, 
is it healthful in its influence ? 

Here opinions differ widely. What possible harm, 
what conceivable sin, can there be in simply moving 
in time to music ? Music has been almost universally 
acknowledged as elevating in its influence ; why 
should motions responsive to its melody be harmful ? 

There is, as we have said, another side to this ques- 
tion. Intellectually, the “accomplishment” cannot 
boast of much. It is one that is excelled in often- 
times by the most illiterate, the lowest in the social 
scale, and is even taught, to some extent, to animals. 
This branch of the subject is quickly disposed of ; 


^‘Seeing Life.” 


210 


but is it wrong ? Let us look for higher authority 
than the conduct of a loose, worldly-minded professor 
here and there. 

“The Christian Advocate” tells us that “All the 
leading religious societies of the land have pro- 
nounced in decided terms against the amusement : 
several of the Bishops of the Protestant Episcopal 
and Koman Catholic Churches have said as strong 
words against the practice as have been uttered by 
any follower of John Wesley. The fact is, that there 
is a felt incongruity between the practice of dancing 
and the profession of piety. It is a fascinating and 
absorbing pastime that is inconsistent with serious 
thought and with the earnest purpose that belongs 
to a Christian life. Some who were pleading a year 
ago for the innocent square dances have found them 
inadequate for their growing tastes, and now enjoy 
the unseemly contact and unhealthy excitement of 
the round dances they once condemned. It is far 
better to leave them all alone and seek such recrea- 
tions as are healthful to the body and elevating to 
the mind. The giddy mazes of the dance are not 
of that character.” 

Do we require any thing further on this subject ? 
Is not this enough ? But the cry of warning comes 
not alone frdTn the pulpit and the religious press. 
Among the advocates of mere morality much has 
been adduced against the familiarity enforced in some 
dances — attitudes and postures that cannot but be 


220 


Words and Ways. 


objectionable to the pure minded. I will only ask 
the reader to look above inferences, fears of contam- 
ination from association with those who often have 
nothing to recommend them but their “ culture ” in 
this one particular, and look at facts. Hear the tes- 
timony of one whose wide experience calls for atten- 
tion. 

One occupying the position of Chief of Police of 
the city of Hew York has made the startling state- 
ment, that of the women of that city who fall from 
the heights of womanly purity, nine tenths begin 
their downward career in the round dances. Such a 
statement needs no comment. 

Professor Lankton proved, indeed, a skillful in- 
structor, and his pupils were soon able to practice 
the “ fine art ” with considerable proficiency, and the 
round of parties and balls kept the young people of 
the select circle in a constant fever over costumes and 
other iijiportant details. 

Alas! that young girls should so early enter the 
arena of dress and learn to vie with each other in the 
effort to outshine, forgetting the robes of modesty 
and true womanliness, forgetting “ the ornament of a 
meek and quiet spirit ! ” 

Before many of those occasions of dazzling gayety 
had passed by, Annette Bell, but latel/ scrupulously 
careful in her zeal to comply with even the imagined 
wishes of her departed father, so far disregarded his 
expressed desire as to wear her bracelets, watch, and 


‘^Seeing Life.” 


221 


chain to a masquerade ball, although a year was yet 
to elapse before she should come of age. 

You will be pained and surprised to hear this ; and 
in truth, Annette herself would not have believed 
that she could possibly have done so but a short time 
before. But the love of admiration, the desire for 
display, had been aroused within her, had swept away 
her scruples, or silenced them when they tried to 
make themselves heard. 

As for Charlie and Burton, a few months wrought 
changes in them which were no less real because not 
so clearly apparent. Burton rarely spent an evening 
at home, and seemed fitful in his moods ; not good- 
humoredly careless as he had formerly been, but sel- 
dom willing to do any thing he was asked to do, and 
indifferent to the society of his brothers and sisters. 
He and Edgar Lothay were almost inseparable, and 
if Fidelia had feared the infiuence of little Eunice 
over Lucy, she had since learned to dread a greater 
evil. 

Charlie, as he had said, preferred Eugene, and there 
was a degree of intimacy between them which grad- 
ually increased. These two were more studious in 
their tastes than the other boys, and sometimes ex- 
changed books and papers. 

Charlie Bell was not long in discovering that Eu- 
gene Lothay affected a kind of literature which was 
new to himself. There were books and periodicals 
'^vhich had never fallen under his notice before. 


222 


Words and Ways. 


There were infidel lectures, which abused all Chris- 
tians and scoflied at all things good and sacred, while 
claiming to labor for the enfranchisement and enlight- 
enment of the masses. 

The son of godly parents, Charlie could not but 
feel and express some scruples at first in regard to 
reading such books ; but he was answered by Eugene, 
that it was every man’s duty and privilege to read 
both sides and judge for himself. The result was, 
the old story of the seductive infiuence of poisonous 
literature. 

Life at the old Rectory assumed a very different 
aspect from that which it had once known. The 
early, regular hours for rising and retiring were bro- 
ken in upon in "a way that Fidelia, the faithful old 
housekeeper, did not at all approve ; and had it not 
been for her untiring efforts, the younger children 
would have been sadly neglected. 

If Annette was zealously discharging the duties she 
owed to society, her home duties were proportionately 
in arrears. She had been metamorphosed from the 
thoughtful elder sister into the gay young lady, much 
sought after, graceful and pleasing, but fast losing one 
of the brightest charms of young ladyhood — unstudied 
sweetness, unconscious loveliness. 

Lucy, with all her whims and sensitiveness to mor- 
tifications and all the little unpleasant phases of life, 
was now more thoughtful of the welfare of her little 
brother and sister than Annette. But feeling, herself, 


‘‘Seeing Life.’ 


223 


the deprivations arising from her sister’s devotion to 
dress and society, and the difference between them 
growing daily more marked, she grew more and more 
into herself, and refused to have any intercourse out- 
side of the family \Yhich could possibly be avoided 
Eunice Lothay soon found more congenial associates; 
and Mollie Hicks, Lucy’s nearest neighbor on the other 
side, tried in vain to cultivate her acquaintance. 

So Lucy was left to find her pleasure almost wholly 
in the companionship of Eomie and Lonnie. This 
state of affairs was not without its advantages ; but 
yet if the older of these two sisters had fallen into 
one extreme, the younger had no less surely fallen 
into the other. When callers came to the Rectory 
Lucy avoided them whenever she was able, and when 
unavoidably brought into contact \\#th strangers she 
was more and more restrained and uncomfortable; 
while Annette had acquired such a feverish fondness 
for company that she was restless and discontented 
unless she was visiting or receiving visits. 

There is a golden mean between tlie two extremes 
taken by these sisters. If undue indulgence in social 
pleasures has a demoralizing tendency, a selfish absti- 
nence from all association with those around us is 
dwarfing and narrowing in its effects. If excess dis- 
sipates the thoughts and makes one frivolous, undue 
seclusion causes the ideas to center in one’s self, and 
produces a selfish exclusiveness that is opposed to the 
life which we were meant to live in this world. An- 


224 : 


Words and Ways. 


nette was conscious of pleasing, and somewhat over- 
confident and fond of display, while Lucy was sensi- 
tive and retiring to an extravagant degree. My 
reader, if both had thought less of themselves, of 
their own happiness, of how they were impressing 
others, and how others were feeling and acting toward 
them, in the nobler thought of discharging their 
duty and making others happy, it would have been 
better for each, l^one are perfect, and none are free 
from criticism. W e should accept this fact and strive 
to model our characters and our lives after our one 
perfect pattern, earnestly seeking to know and correct 
our faults ; but, while avoiding the regarding of our- 
selves with undue complacency, striving not to scan 
either ourselves or others with morbid depreciation. 

There are streams through whose courses immense 
quantities of water pass from numerous aifluents, yet 
which are never navigable because of their rapids and 
the multiplied tributaries which dissipate their waters. 
They hurry through their beds, dancing and glittering 
in the sunlight, throwing up bright spray, making 
music in their cataracts, pouring their waters here and 
there, and then disappearing. Their career is like 
that of those lives which are dissipated in aimless 
gayety and pleasure-seeking. 

Let me give you another picture. *You have heard 
of the Great Salt Lake of the West, whose waters 
form a crust on every thing with which they come in 
contact, in which no living thing is found, and which 


‘‘ Seeing Life.’’ 


225 


is far more strongly impregnated with salt than the 
ocean. It has been demonstrated that this lake was 
once more than three times its present size, and that 
its waters were fresh. The first fact is shown by the 
regular terraces formed in the Great Basin by its 
gradual diminution, while its former freshness is ar- 
gued from the shells of fresh-water species which 
have been found there, doubtless remains of the for- 
mer inhabitants of the now briny lake. So long as it 
possessed tributaries it received and gave, and was a 
thing of life. The diminished supply of rain-fall has 
reduced its volume and cut it off from all outlet, and 
now it can only go on incrusting its shores with its 
salt deposit, and continuing to be the lifeless lake. 

Let us take heed to it that neither of these pictures 
is like our lives. 

16 


226 


WoEDS AND Ways. 


CHAPTEE XX. 


THE HARYEST. 

“ Do men gather grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles ? ” — Matt, vii, 16. 
ITTLE more than a year had elapsed since Charlie 



JU Bell and his brothers and sisters had taken up 
their abode at Pleasant Hill, but great changes had 
taken place among them in that brief time. Some of 
the most important were not noticed by the casual 
observer ; but, notwithstanding this fact, there was a 
marked difference in the liv^es of some of the inmates 
of the old Eectory. 

The repairs were about completed, and the condi- 
tion of the house was now in comfortable contrast 
with that in which they had found it. The rooms in 
use were cozy and home-like under Fidelia’s diligent 
administration. But if the old home had changed 
for the better, what of the boys and girls who lived 
there ? 

We will meet them around the well-filled breakfast 
table. It is an eight-o’clock breakfast, but, despite 
the lateness of the hour, some of the young faces 
wear a tired, heavy-eyed expression. 

“ Burt,” Annette is saying, “ I wish you would stay 
away from the ball to-night unless you can conduct 
yourself a little better than you did last night.” 


The Harvest. 


227 


“ What was the matter with my conduct last night, 
I should like to know ? ” demanded the brother, 
angrily. 

‘‘ Why, you talked and laughed so loud as to be 
heard all over the hall, and you said some very silly 
things. Every body was laughing at you, and I was 
nearly mortified to death,” answered Annette. 

“ Poor dear ! ” said her brother, sneeringly ; “ you’d 
better stay at home yourself if you think there is any 
danger of losing your valuable life. I guess I know 
how to behave myself in company ! ” he added, fierce- 
ly, the dull red that was growing daily on his young 
face deepening. 

“ Not when you are as drunk as you were las 
night,” answered Annette, with exasperating cool 
ness. 

Could it be possible ? A little while ago the bare 
thought of her brother’s taking a glass of wine at an 
evening party was painful to this young girl be- 
yond expression ; now she could bring the charge of 
drunkenness against one of them with no perceptible 
feeling except anger and annoyance. 

Burton Bell ordered his sister to mind her own 
business and hold her tongue so long as she danced 
continually with such rakes as Hugh Lowell and 
Cy Calhoun, at the same time interspersing his re- 
marks with expressions not learned in his father’s 
house. 

“ For shame, Burt ! ” said Charlie, speaking for the 


228 


WoEDS AND Ways. 


first time. “Ket is half right about it. You are 
getting no good spending so much of your time with 
Ed Lothay and the rest of those fellows down at 
Werner’s.” 

“ Ed is as good as Gene any day,” retorted Burt ; 
“ and smoking and drinking a little down at W er- 
ner’s is no worse than reading infidel books and lect- 
ures, and all the rest of the vile stufi you boys keep 
in that high-toned reading-room of yours. Faugh ! 
The thought of some of it makes me sick ” 

Charlie flushed in turn. 

“ You don’t know what you are talking about,” he 
said. “ Every body of intelligence examines both 
sides of every question, nowadays. The world is ad- 
vancing, and liberal views are more general. People 
investigate for themselves ; they don’t take every 
thing on trust, as they used to do in the Dark Ages.” 

‘‘ Bosh ! ” answered Burt, contemptuously. “ You 
have read the stuff until you imagine you are Bob 
himself. I’d rather have an appetite for cigars and 
whisky than for such dregs of wickedness as you and 
your set are burrowing in.” 

Burt seized his hat and left the room before his 
brother could make any reply. Alas, alas, for the 
evil communications of Pleasant Hill ! The seed had 
been sown, and was rapidly bringing forth fruit in 
its kind. Mr. Ford, the faithful minister who had 
been sent to Pleasant Hill, had often been troubled 
by the marked absence of young faces in his congre- 


The Harvest. 


229 


gation, but he little knew the evils against which he 
had been called to do battle. He would yet learn that 
the specious arguments of modern infidelity and free- 
thinking were more familiar to the reading portion 
of the youth of the community than the simplest 
forms of religious truth. There were even those 
who sneered with parrot-like proficiency at the idea 
of going to Sunday-school or church, and wisely 
quoted the poor fiing, that “ the average minister is 
not capable of entertaining the average audience,” 
and that “ ministers of the Gospel oppose the open- 
ing of places of public entertainment and amusement 
on the Sabbath from fear of rivalry — that should 
such resorts be free to all on that day, the churches 
would be deserted.” 

Alas for the blind, who submit to be led by the 
blind ! It is a sufficient commentary on the boasted 
philanthropy, true liberality, and superior human 
goodness of the trumpeters of such sentiments that 
they are so ready and eager to impute the most self- 
ish and narrow motives to those whose lives are 
known and read as disinterestedly devoted to God 
and humanity. 

There is something very suggestive in some of the 
arguments used by the unrelenting persecutors of 
Christ and his followers. Can it be that they have 
consciously passed the line 

“That crosses every path, 

The hidden boundary between 
God’s mercy and his wrath?” 


230 


WoEDs AND Ways. 


Is it, to follow the imputations of one against God's 
ministers, that he fears loneliness ? Ah, the darkest, 
direst loneliness is the loneliness of despair. 

Had Charlie Bell but investigated a little on the 
other side, he might have learned that there were 
hundreds who weekly drank deep, inspiring draughts 
of intellectual as well as spiritual enjoyment from the 
ministrations of the pulpit, who would have consid- 
ered the sparkling froth of his champion’s gushing 
periods insipid when not positively distasteful from 
the taint of his favorite blasphemies. 

Lucy Bell listened to the table-talk of her brothers 
and sister, and thought complacently that she was 
doing better than they. She was in truth troubled 
about the courses that they were following, but her 
trouble was mixed with not a little Pharisaical pride 
that she was not like them. She now took the 
younger children to Sunday-school and went to church 
regularly, even when Annette was too badly “ fagged 
out ” by a round of gayety to go to the house of God. 
Lucy enjoyed the singing and the freedom from the 
conventionality attendant upon “ going into society,” 
and really made no sacrifice whatever to walk in the 
path which she had chosen ; but notwithstanding this 
she entertained vainglorious thoughts of herself, and 
mentally made many self-conceited comparisons be- 
tween herself and the others. 

On the afternoon of the day upon which our 
chapter opens Mr. Ford called at the old Hector y. 


The Harvest. 


231 


Annette was spending the day with a friend, and the 
duty of entertaining the minister fell upon Lucy. 
She would much rather have seen him in the pulpit, 
but managed to respond to his pleasant remarks, and 
even to venture a few on her own account. 

‘‘ You were not present at the sociable,” he said, as 
the conversation flagged a little. 

“ Ho ; I do not care at all for society,” answered 
Lucy, who had come to consider this not caring for 
society as one of her virtues ; “ I And my enjoyments 
at home.” 

Mr. Ford smiled a little, and she went on. 

“ My sister Annette and my brothers Charlie and 
Burton are very gay. I wish you would try to 
reform them. Burton has fallen into bad company, 
Charlie reads infidel books, and Annette cares for 
nothing so much as dancing ; and they hardly ever go 
to church.” 

There were evidences of real distress as well as un- 
mistakable signs of self-gratulation in the girl’s face 
and manner. Mr. Ford’s smile had gone, and in its 
place had come an expression of deep gravity. He 
talked long and earnestly with Lucy, setting the right 
way plainly before her, and when he left her, though 
he had made no promises to do so, she felt that he 
would make an effort on behalf of her erring brothers 
and sister. 

But this was not all. Somehow under the minis- 
ter’s kind, wise words Lucy’s self-complacency had 


232 


WoEDS AND Ways. 


vanished like a snow-drift in the sunshine, and a pas- 
sage which he had repeated kept sounding over and 
over in her thoughts : Let him that thinketh he 

standeth take heed lest he fall.” 

She felt that there was no danger of her falling 
into the excesses indulged in by the others, but the 
faithful pastor had spoken of the sin of self-right- 
eousness, the evil of the unregenerate heart and 
the necessity of the new birth. He had plainly por- 
trayed the lost condition of those who neglect the 
great salvation. 

One evening, several weeks later, she was sitting 
down stairs alone after taking the little ones up to 
their room. She had thought much and seriously 
since Mr. Ford’s visit. His words seemed so like her 
father’s as she sat thus thinking, thinking. Her 
thoughts went out in memories of the old home and 
happier times than the present. She felt lonely and 
dissatisfied. She heard the bell ring for prayer-meet- 
ing and wished she might go, as in “ the old times,” as 
she called them in her thoughts. Then she wished that 
some one would come in, if it were only Mollie Hicks. 
But Mollie had not ventured near the old Kectory 
for several weeks. The text came to her as if spoken : 
‘‘ A man that hath friends must show himself 
friendly : and there is a friend that stricketh closer 
than a brother.” Prov. xviii, 24. 

She heard Fidelia singing in the kitchen as she went 
about her evening work. Then she heard the front 


The Harvest. 


233 


door closed and steps coming along the hall. Could 
it be that Mollie Hicks and Ida Payne had overlooked 
her last slight, and were coming in informally to spend 
the evening ? She hoped so ; but the steps did not 
sound just like Mollie’s and Ida’s, and then she heard 
them go by the door of her room and pass up the stairs. 

“ It must be Charlie and Burt,” she thought, and she 
had taken from the post-office a registered letter ad- 
dressed to Charlie, which had come by the evening 
mail. She would go and give it to him before he 
went out again or retired for the night. 

Lucy was not a cowardly girl, except in a social 
way, and she started at once to go up the long stair- 
case, and through the rooms and passages that must be 
traversed, without a light. She made her way without 
much difficulty, and as she neared her destination a ray 
of light streamed from the door which was standing 
ajar. Then she heard voices. One was Burton’s, but 
she did not recognize the other. 

‘‘ I tell you, Burt Bell,” it was saying angrily, I 
won that money fairly, and I must have it, every 
cent of it,” he added, emphatically. 

“ Mat, do be reasonable,” replied Burt. “ I tell 
you I haven’t but ten dollars to save myself with, and 
that really belongs to the butcher instead of me.” 

Burt’s companion uttered an exclamation which I 
will not repeat, and followed it up with the state- 
ment that Charlie had received a registered letter 
that evening, for he was in the office when his sister 


WoKDS AND Ways. 


receipted for it ; and then he uttered a dark threat that 
made Lucy shudder and hold her breath to keep her- 
self from crying out. She felt as if she was rooted 
to the spot as she saw Burt go to his brother’s trunk 
and try the lock with several successive keys which 
he took from his pocket. 

His companion in watching the process now turned 
toward the door, and Lucy saw an evil-looking face 
with green glasses over the inflamed eyes which she 
had noticed in the post-office that evening. At last 
the lock yielded and the lid was thrown back. 

It isn’t here,” she heard Burt say, and then she 
crept into a little anteroom near by and crouched 
down on the floor in the darkness. She presently 
heard their voices again, and this time they sounded 
near the spot, when she trembled, fearing that her 
breathing would betray her. 

The girl has got it, Burt,” she heard the strange 
voice say. ‘‘ You can get it from her before Charlie 
comes in. He has gone to the play and will not be 
home for hours. I’ll wait here.” 

‘‘Have you lost your senses. Mat Walters?” ques- 
tioned Burt. “ Do you suppose that I am going to 
commit myself in that kind of way ? ” 

“ Well, take your choice,” answered Mat, in a hard 
voice. “ If I am to be cheated out of my winnings. 
I’ll have my revenge. When old Hewman knows 
what I can tell him, he’ll commit you with a venge- 
ance — to jail, or I’m mistaken.” He concluded his 


The Haevest. 235 

words with a sneering laugh. Lucy heard Burt groan 
as he stood near the door. 

“ O come, Burt, you make too serious a matter of a 
little thing. Go and get the letter ; you can tell Char- 
lie that you put it on the hall table, and he’ll think a 
burglar got it ; ha, ha ! ” 

The young fellow laughed like a hardened villain 
of mature years. Lucy clutched the letter more 
closely in her hand. Then came the sound of Burt’s 
retreating footsteps along the passage, and then the 
sound of Mat Walters whistling softly with satanic 
satisfaction over the apparent success of his evil 
wishes. 

I have said that Lucy Bell was not a cowardly girl, 
but she vjas now seized with almost uncontrollable 
terror. She greatly exaggerated the peril of her 
position, and she would have screamed frantically for 
Fidelia, but that good woman’s growing deafness 
precluded the possibility of making herself heard at 
that distance. She might, no doubt, have thus fright- 
ened away the young would-be thief. But not so 
reasoned Lucy. A boy who would gamble and steal 
might not hesitate to commit murder, she reflected. 

She remembered that a door at the other side of tlie 
little room where she was crouching communicated 
with another room which opened out upon the balcony 
at tlie back of the house. She might make her escape 
there. Hurriedly unbuttoning her shoes, she removed 
them and stole noiselessly across the apartment. She 


236 


WoEDS AND Ways. 


found the door standing ajar and pushed it open as 
quietly as possible. It creaked a little on its unused 
hinges, and Mat Walters ceased his quiet whistling. 
Lucy darted through and hurried out on the balcony. 
She thought the youthful swindler was in close 
suit, though in truth he had only been startled a little 
by the creaking noise, coining from he knew not 
where. 

The girl hid behind a wide pillar and waited, but 
no sound reached her and she began to feel compara- 
tively safe. She looked up at the stars shining quietly 
overhead, and drew long breaths of relief. It had 
been but a few minutes since she had gone up stairs 
to deliver Charlie’s letter, but it seemed like a long 
while ago. And now that she felt more safe, the 
thought of Burt began to trouble her sorely. Could 
it be that he had gone so far in the broad and slippery 
way as to gamble, and then steal the money that was 
intended for family expenses, to meet the result of 
his folly and sin? And what had he done to Mr. 
Newman ? 

There was no ingredient of self-righteousness in 
Lucy’s thoughts now, no feeling but sorrow and shame 
mingled with a terror which made her tremble from 
head to foot. What course should she pursue ? She 
dared not meet Burt until Charlie’s return ; and in 
the mean time how should she keep out of his way ? 
And so far from the occupied portion of the rambling 
old house, how should she know when Charlie or 


The Harvest. 23Y 

Annette should return ? TV hat if Fidelia or the 
children should miss her ? 

One perplexing question after another hurried 
through her mind. She felt that she could suffer 
tortures rather than reveal to any one the terrible 
discovery which she had made, but she would do that 
rather than give up the letter. All at once the voices 
of Burt and his companion in evil reached her ears in 
loud and angry tones. She must fly. She remem- 
bered that the carpenters had left a ladder at the end 
of the balcony, and she at once resolved to climb 
down and go to Mrs. Hicks’s and therea wait the re. 
turn of Charlie. True she had left her shoes in the 
anteroom, but something must be done. So she 
groped about in the dark until she found the danger- 
ous stair-way, and unhesitatingly began to descend. 

She did not even wait to put the letter in her 
pocket, but still held it in her hand. As she climbed 
slowly down the ladder, holding carefully as she went, 
she encountered about mid- way a broken rung and 
nearly lost her balance. In recovering herself she 
dropped the letter. 

Hurrying down as quickly as possible, she groped 
about on the frozen snow, her feet and hands aching 
with cold, and her pulses throbbing painfully. A few 
minutes later a light flashed from the balcony which 
she had just left. She knew the boys were searching 
for her, but she was glad of the shining rays. They 
showed her the lost letter, in its large yellow envelope^ 


238 


WoEDs AND Ways. 


close beside her. She grasped it, and hurrying 
around the house made her way to Mrs. Hicks’s, by 
running through the untrodden snow of the wide 
grounds of the Kectory and climbing the division 
fence. 

Mollie was not a little surprised to see her visitor, 
but without seeming to notice her shoeless feet, she 
gave her a warm welcome. 

“ I am so glad you came,” she said. Here, Lucy, 
sit right down in mother’s big chair and warm your- 
self. I was feeling so lonely all by myself. Mother 
was obliged to go over to Mrs. Payne’s.” 

She rattled on, as if Lucy’s visit was a very frequent 
occurrence, and as if she never noticed that her visitor 
was greatly excited and trembling violently. She 
talked on and on in a way that called for no replies 
until Lucy was more at her ease and O, so warm and 
comfortable ! 

The two girls told stories which they had read and 
heard, and exhausted each her stock of riddles and 
puzzles, and then Mollie brought out a pitcher of 
milk with two cups and a plate of snowy bread, and 
they had a little feast together, a love-feast, I think, 
for Mollie showed a kind, forgiving, and loving spirit, 
and Lucy was drawn toward her friend in a way that 
would never permit her to feel cold and indifferent 
toward her again. 


Truth ahd Error. 


239 


CHAPTEE XXI. 

TRUTH AND ERROR. 

“ What shall be given unto thee ? or what shall be done unto thee, 
thou false tongue? Sharp arrows of the mighty, with coals of juni- 
per.”— Psa. cxx, 3, 4. 

I T was not many days after Mr. Ford’s visit to the 
old Eectory that he called at tlie place which 
Burton Bell had sarcastically styled “ that high-toned 
reading-room.” It was pleasantly furnished by 
Eugene Lothay. Its tables were covered with books 
and papers and its walls hung with pictures. A brief 
examination of the books having a bearing on religious 
questions would have shown them to be all on one 
side. The liberality of sentiment which professed to 
examine both sides existed only in name. The 
youthful patrons of the establishment had not, per- 
haps, noticed the fact, but the literature had been sup- 
plied with a view to the examination of one side only, 
that side which, alas for the depravity of fallen human 
nature, acknowledges no divine authority, and gives 
to the will the widest possible license consistent with 
‘‘ the light of reason, that infallible guide,” as those 
who know no better have styled it. 

There were several volumes from infidel pens, and 
many papers and pamphlets containing attacks upon 


240 


WoEDS AND Ways. 


the authenticity of the Bible, but no copy of the holy 
Book, no Commentaries, no answers to infidel object- 
ors, no testimony from those who have said, not “ My 
reason leads me to draw certain conclusions,” but 
“ I Tcnow that my Redeemer livethP 

There were some among the collection of writings 
that taught or professed to teach a high morality. 
There were others which spoke ostentatiously of 
purity while advocating evil. 

There were but two of the youthful investigators 
present on the evening of Mr. Ford’s visit, Charlie 
Bell and another bearing marks of dissipation plainly 
stamped on his face. He, too, had been a child of 
prayers, and he, too, was seeking for justification in the 
course which he wished to follow. 

The minister accosted the young men pleasantly 
and entered into conversation with them. It did not 
require much time or trouble to elicit the fact that 
those who were accustomed to frequent the place 
were drinking error like water. 

Mr. Ford wisely forebore to attack their false 
position until he had shown the boys its unfairness. 
He examined the authors, some of them standard 
infidel works, and others, the frothy lectures which 
have drawn such crowds by their very frothiness. 
After continuing the examination for some time the 
visitor quietly asked : 

“ And where are your authorities on the other 
side of the question ? ” 


Truth and Error. 


241 


The boys looked a little surprised and somewhat 
confused. The minister continued : 

“ I do not see Dr. Clarke’s Commentaries, nor Scott’s 
Family Bible, nor Barnes’ Kotes. I see none of the 
multitudinous answers to infidel works ; none of the 
defenses of Christianity.” 

‘‘We have all read the Bible,” Charlie managed to 
say, at length. 

“But have you studied it carefully?” asked Mr. 
Ford. “This author,” he continued, taking up a 
modern infidel lecture which Charlie had been read- 
ing, ‘* assumes that the Bible is uninspired and full of 
mistakes, and that those who claim to be guided by 
its precepts are hypocrites. He is unable to concede 
one grain of truth or sincerity to those who call them- 
selves Christians. How do you think that this is 
quite a fair or manly position to assume ? ” 

Charlie answered that he supposed not. 

“Judging him by his own standard, it might be 
asked by those on the other side : How much of sin- 
cerity is there in the boasted tranquillity of that one 
who goes through life in open denial of his Maker ? 
How much of honest philanthropy in the soul that, 
falling below the plane of the wretched Dives, strives, 
with untiring zeal, to bring others into a possible 
‘place of torment?’ Might it not happen that 
among generations of ‘pretenders’ in the religious 
world, there should be pretenders among those who 
acknowledge no obligation to their Creator ? ” 

16 


242 Words and Ways. 

The boys admitted that they did not think it im- 
possible. 

‘‘ Ah, my young friends,” the visitor went on, ear^ 
nestly, ‘‘ such spiteful flings as that man indulges in 
can have no weight except with those who are igno- 
rant or willingly deceived. Do not allow yourselves 
to be misled by such a one. Do not accept unhesi- 
tatingly the bare statements of one who, as wiser per- 
sons can certify, has repeatedly displayed, in their 
darkest forms, both ignorance and unfairness. There 
is abundant argument and irrefutable proof, if you 
will take the trouble to look for it. But let me ask 
you,” he continued, pleasantly, “if either of you 
has ever known a man to be changed from a drunk- 
ard, a thief, a quarrelsome, lawless man, or any such 
evil character, to one entirely different, by being 
brought under the influence of the Bible and the 
Christian religion ? ” 

Charlie Bell and his companion, after a little hesi- 
tation, confessed that they had known of such in- 
stances more than once. 

“Well, my friends, have you ever seen or known 
of similar effects having been produced by the im- 
bibing of infidel views ? It must be something more 
than mere opinion or intellectual belief that makes 
this wide difference. And the overwhelming argu- 
ments to be drawn from the lives of multitudes who 
have testified to their honest belief in the religion of 
Jesus Christ has been rendered tenfold more con- 


Truth and Error. 


243 


vincing by testimony in wliat has been called ‘the 
honest hour,’ the hour of death. You may have read 
statements that religious ecstasies are not confined to 
the so-called disciples of Jesus, that they are the effect 
of delirium and a part of the phenomena of death ; 
that the wicked see angels as well as the good. But 
we have abundant, incontrovertible testimony that the 
‘ death-bed fancies ’ of the two classes are, in a large 
majority of cases, as widely different as light and 
darkness, and this rule is by no means disposed of by 
a few apparently exceptional cases. The wicked 
have been known to die with fortitude, they have 
passed into the unknown world giving no sign of 
fear, but such cases are by no means general, and 
who ever heard of one who in buoyant health could 
turn away from life not only with tranquillity but 
gladness ? ” 

Charlie Bell’s mind reverted to his mother. She 
had died from some affection of the heart, and had 
been subject to violent attacks that were like death, 
but from which she had several times rallied and 
seemed for a considerable interval in her usual 
health. Her physician told her that the end would 
come suddenly, and was liable to come at any mo- 
ment. But this information, had brought no fear or 
distress. She had talked of her approaching depart- 
ure with calmness and even cheerfulness, comfort- 
ing her friends with the reminder that the separation 
would be short. She knew in whom she had be- 


244 : WoEDS AND WaYS. 

lieved and went about her daily duties quietly, but 
not afraid. 

Was it strange that all these facts came back to her 
erring son at this moment? Was it not more strange 
that he should ever have lost sight of them? He 
seemed to see before him the dear patient face that 
always wore a smile which even death did not re- 
move. Then he thought of his father’s teachings, of 
his strongly-expressed belief in the reality of divine 
things, of the pure, unselfish life that had but lately 
“ gone out ” in that distant land. Could it be, he 
asked himself, that it had, indeed, gone out as a 
candle ? 

Mr. Ford was silent for a little while, and the 
thoughts of at least one of his hearers were busy. 
Several others had now come in, and though at first 
there were sly winks and whispers of ‘‘ a sermon,” 
most of the young men listened to what was said, 
and let us hope that some good seed found a lodg- 
ment in the minds of all. 

Ho one offered a reply, and he went on : If the 
state of the soul at the approach of death is only the 
result of previously adopted views, the refiection, as 
in dreams, of the habitual trains of thought, then 
why do so many who have lived without God, and 
in complete indifference or open opposition to holy 
things, acknowledge the mistake which they have 
made when they come to look beyond this world ? 
Multitudes have died for the name of Christ, some of 


Teuth and Eeeor. 


245 


them new converts, and have gone to meet death, 
firm in their belief, and not only fearless but joyful. 
Joy unspeakable is the characteristic which has dis- 
tinguished the martyrs of Jesus from the devotees of 
other systems of religion, or those who deny all relig- 
ious belief. The patriot has been known to die con- 
tent because victory crowned the flag under which 
he had fallen ; the philosopher has sometimes died 
calmly, upheld by the system which he has believed 
and taught ; but what class of persons, except Chris- 
tians, have such a record for meeting the monster 
with joyfulness ? Those who have gone to the stake 
with songs, were certainly not then in the delirium 
of death.” 

The faces gathered in that reading-room of infidel 
literature all wore a thoughtful expression as the ear- 
nestness of the visitor became more apparent, while 
he went on to say : 

My young friends, the unprejudiced mind must 
inquire with honesty and sincerity, ‘ Are these things 
so ? * Was Jesus divine ? Are the professed followers 
of the God-man ignorant fanatics or pretenders and 
deceivers of the people ? Are they teachers of lies, 
or are they honest followers of him who sufiered like 
accusations and foretold them for his disciples ? Are 
the revilers of Christ and his servants to-day, like the 
malicious Jews of old, fulfilling his prophecies to 
their own condemnation ? 

“ You say you wish to know both sides of the 


246 


WoEDS AND Ways. 


question and judge for yourselves ? Let me ask you, 
in all kindness, what investigations you have made on 
the side of safety ? Should the opinions of infidel 
teachers be true, it will not matter hereafter whether 
or not you indorsed them ; but you will do w^ell to 
know soon whether it is true that the Bible points 
the way to heaven and happiness, and warns against 
that place where ‘ the smoke of their torment ascend- 
eth up for ever and ever.’ If there is the bare pos- 
iibility of an eternity of happiness or woe, is it not 
the part of wisdom to take the safer course ? There 
is no risk in accepting the Bible. Its teaching will 
fit you for a higher, nobler life. Its code of morals 
has been pronounced, even by unbelievers, the purest 
ever offered to man. Its pages bear no falsehoods 
dressed in the garb of truth. Young men, I beg of 
you to beware. The so-called candor that is so will- 
ing to examine the arguments of the enemies of 
truth, is not infrequently the innate appetite for error 
which lurks in the un regenerate heart. And the 
reading of such books and lectures by the young is 
the more dangerous, because they are not competent 
to discern the truth or falsity of what they read. 
An avowed infidel once confessed to humiliation and 
a rising doubt of the ground on which he was stand- 
ing, on finding that some of the most prominent and 
learned men on his side of the question gave cur- 
rency to grave and deliberate falsehoods in order to 
establish the appearance of the truth of their state- 


Truth and Error. 247 

ments. Being a learned man in this world’s knowl- 
edge, the untruths were palpably plain to him, but 
doubtless they were accepted as irrefutable argu- 
ments against the truth of God’s word. I repeat, 
it is better to err on the side of safety. I have not 
given you the evidences of the truth. The books of 
the world could not contain them all. But the 
strongest, surest evidence is that which, if we will, 
we may have written on our own hearts by the finger 
of God. ‘The secret of the Lord is with them 
that fear him, and he will show them his covenant.’ ” 

After Mr. Ford had left the room there was 
silence for some time. The young men stole ques- 
tioning glances at one another, but no one spoke for 
several minutes. 

At this juncture Eugene Lothay came in. 

“Well, fellows,” he began, “you had a visit from 
the parson, did you ? Did you fight him with Tom 
Paine, Yolney, or Ingersoll? Pd give a champagne 
supper to have been here ; ha, ha ! I say, boys, why 
don’t some of you speak. I want the particulars of 
the battle.” 

“ There wasn’t any battle. Gene,” answered Eobin 
Price, a little impatiently. “Mr. Ford was just talk- 
ing plain common sense, as I take it, and we 
boys were listening with what grace we could sum- 
mon. I say. Gene,” he continued, “ I guess the 
Seven Sages of Greece were a trifie ahead of us fel- 
lows, after all.” 


248 


WoKDs AND Ways. 


“What do you mean?” asked Eugene. “Have 
you got religion under Parson Ford’s preaching?” 

“ Hot I,” answered Robin, flushing a little. “ To 
get religion is one thing, and to get an inkling of the 
fact that I am one of a club of ignorant, self- 
conceited young reprobates is quite another. I am 
going back to the Bible and flrst principles, for my 
part.” 

Eugene Lothay laughed loud and long. He was 
joined rather faintly by one or two of the others. 

“ Have your laugh,” said Robin, coolly ; “ it makes 
no difference to me. I saw my mother die as Mr. 
Ford says only Christians can die, and I know what 
her life was ; the more shame to me to be found hunt- 
ing for flaws in the Book by which she lived and 
died.” 

The boys were silenced, but Eugene tried to smile 
scornfully. 

“ I tell you, fellows,” went on Robin, “ I am not 
trying to show any superior wisdom or goodness, for 
I haven’t any ; but I must take the truth as it comes 
to me.” 

“ Right !” spoke Charlie Bell, not without an effort, 
and feeling keenly the superior courage of the boy 
who had given words to the thoughts which were 
struggling for speech in his own mind. Ah! the 
time was not far distant when the truth would im- 
press him even more forcibly and distinctly than it 
had done to-day. 


Teuth and Eeeoe. 


249 


My reader, I would impress upon your mind the 
importance of an experimental knowledge of those 
truths which are challenged by unbelievers. It does 
not require a life-time of study ; it does not require a 
careful comparison of all the arguments adduced to 
establish in the mind a certainty of the truth of re- 
vealed religion. The man who was born blind needed 
no arguments to prove to him that Jesus was divine. 
All that he knew, or needed to know, was : “ Whereas 
I was blind, now I see.” 


250 


Words and Ways. 


CHAPTEE XXII. 


DOUBLE TROUBLE. 


“ Thou turnest man to destruction ; and sayest, Return, ye children 
of men For a thousand years in thy sight are but as yesterday 
when it is past, and as a watch in the night.” — Psa. xc, 3, 4. 


KEN Lucy Bell reached home late on the night 



Yf of her adventure, she found Charlie alone in the 
sitting-room. Burton had gone out again, and An- 
nette had not yet returned. 

Lucy was so much relieved that she hurried into 
the room and delivered the letter without thinking 
of her plight, and then, suddenly remembering it, 
became terrified lest Charlie should notice it and 
begin to question her. The brother, however, ap- 
peared preoccupied, and did not seem to see that Lucy 
wore no shoes ; but having noticed that she had just 
come in, he asked : 

“ Why, Lucy, have you just come from the post- 
office ? ” 

“ N — no ! ” she stammered, “ I — I have been spend- 
ing the evening with Mollie Hicks.” 

“ You should not have carried the letter about with 
you,” he said. ‘‘ You ought to know better. You 
might have lost it.” 


Double Trouble. 251 

Lucy took the rebuke far more meekly than she 
was wont to do. 

“ Why, where are your shoes, Lucy ? ” he asked, ab- 
ruptly, as his sister’s efforts to conceal her feet drew 
attention to them. 

‘‘ They are up in the — they are up stairs,” answered 
Lucy, in much confusion. 

“ And you have been out in the snow without 
them ? Child, are you crazy to expose yourself in 
this way after having sore throat nearly all winter ? ” 

He wondered for a moment if she had not really 
lost her mind, remembering Lucy’s sensitiveness both 
to cold and to appearing in a Tole in the least ridicu- 
lous. 

The girl had made up her mind to keep her late 
discoveries entirely to herself. She was horrified at 
the knowledge which she had gained, and longed to 
unburden her mind by sharing it with some one, but 
she feared the consequences. She trembled at the 
thought that the culprits knew she had overheard 
their conversation; but she hoped against hope that 
they might not have seen the shoes left in the ante- 
room, or might have supposed that they were left 
there at some other time, and have only been alarmed 
at the noise of the creaking door. She was sure that 
when they came out on the balcony they were search- 
ing for a possible listener, and she felt that her secret 
was a dangerous one. What should she do? She 
stood hesitating for a moment before replying. The 


252 


Words and Ways. 


next she heard Burton come in. She listened to the 
creak of his boots as he went up stairs. 

“ O, Charlie ! don’t ask me to explain,” she gasped. 
“I have done nothing wrong. I was obliged to go 
to Mrs. Hicks’s. I was obliged to go without mj 
shoes. I had to go to take the letter to keep it safe. 
Don’t ask me any questions, but take care of the 
money, and don’t put it in your trunk nor say any- 
thing about this to any body ! ” 

Lucy hurried her sentences one after another almost 
without breathing. Charlie was silent for a moment 
and looked at his sister curiously. Then he said, in a 
re-assuring way : 

“ All right, Lu ; you’re a -girl among a hundred. 
How go and get your feet dry and warm before you 
go to bed.” 

As Lucy said good-night and went out, she won- 
dered if Charlie were humoring her whim, as he 
thought, because he considered her crazy, or whether 
he had an idea of the terrible truth. 

On reaching her room she tried to dry and warm 
her feet, as she had been directed ; but the fire had 
burned low, and the longer she sat by its few dull 
embei’s, the colder she seemed to become. She was 
shaking as if in a fit of ague. At last she undressed 
hurriedly and crept shivering into bed. 

The younger children were sleeping peacefully, 
their regular breathing sounding plainly in the quiet 
chamber ; but Lucy turned from side to side and lived 


Double Trouble. 


253 


over and over again and again the experience of the 
past evening. Then a liorror of darkness came over 
her and she seemed to be wrapped in a terrible night- 
mare. A little later — was she dreaming or did Bur- 
ton really enter the room with a light and stand by 
her bedside with menacing eyes, and whisper, threat- 
eningly : 

“ If you ever dare to toll I’ll kill you ! ” 

It all seemed very real. She seemed to hear the 
creaking of his boots grow fainter and fainter, and 
then die away in the distance as he went down the 
stairs. Then she imagined herself in the anteroom 
alone in the darkness, listening to the dreadful words 
again, and wildly groping about for a way of escape ; 
then an agony of thirst possessed her and she 
clutched for the snow that seemed to be all around 
her and yet eluded her grasp. 

It was past midnight when the door opened and a 
figure entered enveloped in an opera cloak. A lamp 
was placed on the table, the cloak was thrown ofi, and 
Annette Bell, in evening toilet, stood, with bright 
eyes and glowing cheeks, looking at her reflection in 
the mirror. The dress was of some filmy white ma- 
terial, falling low upon the shoulders, where it seemed 
to hang suspended by narrow bands of lace — such a 
costume as no woman can wear without doing vio- 
lence to her womanly modesty. The face which 
looked at her out of the glass was indeed a lovely 
one. She must have known that without the aid of 


254 


Words and Ways. 


flattering tongues, and been glad of it, for beauty is 
one of God’s good gifts and not to be despised or 
underestimated. But with different surroundings 
this young girl might have learned that there is a 
higher form of loveliness than that which is^utward 
and perishable — the immortal beauty of the soul, the 
fadeless bloom of life and character. She might have 
had a higher aim than to be the bright, particular 
object of admiration and envy, thirsting for compli- 
ments, and grudging to all others what seemed as the 
breath of life to her. 

As she turned her head sidewise to mark the effect 
of the sparkling jewels in her ear, what was it brought 
to her mind so forcibly a long-forgotten remark of 
her father’s : 

“Perforating the ears, and hanging jewels in the 
holes, is a relic of barbarism ; and that a woman of 
culture and refinement should submit to a fashion 
which is the very essence of savage adornment, is to 
me utterly preposterous. A mutilation of the human 
form divine for the purpose of suspending thereto a 
trinket ! As well pierce the nose also, and place a 
jewel there.” 

Annette’s face took on a shade of sadness as she 
thus recalled her father’s sentiments, for she had not 
become utterly hardened, this girl whom false friends 
had led so far into the mazes of fashion and folly. 
Might not that father’s memory prove the clew which 
should yet guide her feet out of the labyrinths and 


Double Trouble. 


255 


into the safe and pleasant paths of wisdom and conse- 
cration to the Masters service ? 

A faint inarticulate sound from one of the beds 
reached her as she turned away from the mirror with 
a little sigh, and a long, lingering look at her reflected 
image. 

Lucy was sitting up in bed, gazing at her sister 
with wild, bright eyes. 

“ Are you an angel ? ” she asked, in an awe-struck 
tone. 

Annette started. Silly, sentimental young men 
had more than once compared her to an angel, and 
the flattery had been sweet to her vanity; but now a 
guilty thrill shot through her at the words from Lucy, 
spoken in a tone so unlike her own. 

“What is the matter, Lucy?” she asked, walking 
close up to the bed and laying her hand on her sis- 
ter’s arm. In that moment there came to her, with 
painful clearness, the consciousness of the great dis- 
tance that had grown and imperceptibly widened be- 
tween herself and Lucy since she had entered upon 
the gay round of fashionable life. How much of her 
time was spent away from home, and how much of 
the little that remained was devoted to her own self- 
ish considerations — ball dresses, masquerade costumes, 
and kindred interests! 

Lucy looked up into her face wonderingly, and 
said nothing. Annette repeated her question with a 
kind of nameless dread. But Lucy now began to 


256 Words and Ways. 

grope nervously with her hands, as if in search of 
something. 

“The letter! the letter!” she said; “I am sure I put 
it in my pocket safe. O, I have lost it, and he will 
be sure to find it with his horrid green spectacles ! ” 

A moment later Annette was hurrying down stairs 
as fast as her white-slippered feet would go. She 
roused up Fidelia, and then flew up stairs again to 
dispatch one of her brothers for the doctor. She 
found their room empty, although it was now nearly 
one o’clock. She must go for the doctor herself, she 
thought, and she made haste back to her room. Fi- 
delia was trying, with little success, to quiet the 
raving girl, who was plainly in the delirium of fever. 

It has been said that trials never come singly, and 
it often seems to us as though the axiom is verified 
in our own experiences ; and so it seemed to Annette 
Bell. She was crossing the room to get a wrap be- 
fore going after Dr. Dalton, when she heard a 
sound of feet coming up the staircase with a slow, 
measured tread that made her think of pall-bearers. 
She stood waiting in the middle of the room. Then 
a voice, that of Dr. Dalton himself, said : 

“Take him right into the first room. We can go 
no farther.” 

Annette did not scream nor faint, but she felt as if 
turned into stone, as Charlie, with two others, carried 
some one in and laid him on the sofa. 

“What is the matter?” asked Fidelia. “O, Burton, 


Double Tkouble. 257 

my poor boy ! ” as she caught sight of the pale face, 
with blood trickling down the forehead. 

Annette went to the sofa, and, dropping down on 
a chair without a word, gazed at her brother’s white 
face. bullet — a row at Werner’s ! ” explained the 

doctor to Fidelia. “ It is uncertain who the perpe- 
trator is.” He spoke in a low tone, turning away 
from where the sister sat ; but she had heard it all. 

Dr. Dalton looked about in a troubled way. 
Lucy was moaning for the cool, white snow, and 
clutching at the counterpane, and then conveying 
her burning hands to her hot lips in a futile attempt 
to quench her thirst. 

‘‘What have we here — fever?” muttered the doctor. 
“ She must be taken to another apartment. I want 
the room empty. I will come to her presently. You, 
miss,” addressing Annette, “ either go to bed at once, 
or put on some clothes. Such weather as this is not 
a fit time to be going about half-dressed.” 

Annette, confused and startled by the old gentle- 
man’s words, rose to her feet and started to go out, 
clutching, in a spasmodic Way, at her meager corsage, 
uncertain, in the fright and confusion of the moment, 
as to what was the real state of her toilet. She stole 
a glance at the mirror as she passed, and a hot wave 
of color swept over her face. She had told herself, 
and had been told by others, that her costume was 
beautiful and becoming to her. It had seemed to be 
so in the glitter of the ball-room ; but here in the 
17 


258 


WoEDS AND Ways. 


chamber of sickness, perhaps death, and under the 
grave, dark eyes of the physician, it seemed unfit for 
any woman to wear, unless, indeed, it was some of 
those lost ones whose names she would shrink from 
speaking. 

Tlie night crept on and morning dawned ; its cold 
gray light creeping gloomily into the two chambers 
of the old Rectory, where anxious faces watched over 
the two sufferers, the one lying white and motionless, 
the other tossing restlessly and talking wildly of some 
terrible thing which seemed to press upon her brain 
with a weight of agony. 

The days came and went, and the messenger which 
must come alike to all, soon or later, seemed about 
to summon one or both of these young souls into the 
presence of the Judge of all the earth. 

Annette had heard from Charlie the story of Lucy’s 
exposure on the night on which she was taken ill, and 
her self-accusing thoughts were hard to bear. She had 
once felt that a deep responsibility rested upon her as 
the eldest sister in this doubly-orphaned family ; but 
how had she discharged her duty ? There had been 
many days when she had scarcely seen her brothers 
and sisters, except at meals, and she rarely spent an 
evening at home, except in the parlor with visitors. 
Her home duties and pleasures had been swallowed 
up by other aims in the new life upon which she had 
entered. Her dead parents had both confided the 
younger members of the family to her especial care 


Double Trouble. 


259 


and she had betrayed her trust. While following the 
path of gayety into which she had been allured, and 
intoxicated by the so-called pleasures of society, the 
monitor had spoken more and more feebly, and 
thoughts of higher duties had been easily thrust 
aside. She had neglected her earthly friends, and, 
forgetting her Bible and her prayers, she had also 
turned aw^ay from her Father in heaven. 

But now” the voice of an accusing conscience was 
ever speaking to her soul, and refusing to be silenced. 
Had she but striven to do her duty, all this might 
not have come upon her. Had she tried to make 
home what it once w^as to her brothers. Burton might 
not have turned to a drinking and gambling saloon 
for entertainment. Had she earnestly sought, day by 
day, for the blessing of God upon the household, they 
might have realized a promise which her mother had 
loved : “ He shall cover thee with his feathers, and 
under his wings shalt thou trust.” Psa. xci, 4. 

Alas ! did her father and mother know what had 
happened on that dreadful night? and did they know 
that she was whirling in the dizzying waltz while the 
terrible tragedy was being acted ? 

My reader, there are apt to be abrupt and startling 
changes in the lives of all. This is not our abiding- 
place, and there is nothing permanent in our life on 
earth. To-day the smooth-flowing stream of our ex- 
istence seems to promise that “ to-morrow shall be as 
this day, and more abundant ; ” but, lo ! if our soul is 


260 


WoEDS AND Ways. 


not required of us in the night-time, the morrow 
brings a change that is like the plunging of the 
stream from the precipice which it has reached, in 
the boiling, roaring cataract. We look back upon life 
as it was on yesterday,’ and almost doubt our own 
identity. Happy, indeed, are we, if self-questioning 
adds not to our pain. Happy, indeed, are we, if re- 
morse makes no part of our misery. Happy are we, 
if in the midst of the startling changes of earthly 
things our hearts are fixed, resting on the sure, im- 
movable foundations of the Kock that is higher than 
we. 


“Whebe Am I Going 


261 


CHAPTEE XXIII. 

“WHERE AM I GOIXG?” 

“ The wicked is driven away in his wickedness : but the righteous 
hath hope in his death.” — Prov. xiv, 32. 

I T was a wild wintry night. The wind was shriek- 
ing around the corners of the great old house and 
moaning through the trees like the voice of some 
creature in the last extremity of pain. 

The wounded boy and the sick girl were moaning 
also in their delirium, and tossing their arms, and^ 
although separated by several rooms, were talking as 
if to each other, their language almost the same. 

The doctor in his evening visit could not fail to 
notice this, as the members of the household had 
already done before. 

I tell you I cannot find the letter, and I have no 
money,” Burton was saying over and over, and then, 
in a threatening tone : “ Don’t you dare to tell, or I 
will kill you ! ” 

The doctor administered a quieting draught to 
Burton, and then went to see his other patient. She 
seemed to be a little more quiet, but when the phy- 
sician laid his fingers on her wrist, she started and 
exclaimed : 

“ O, what shall I do ? They will find me and take 


262 


Words and Ways. 


the letter. It has fallen into the snow and I cannot 
find it, and my hands and feet are so cold. They 
are coming to kill me. Please don’t tell on me, 
Charlie.” And then, clutching wildly at the doctor’s 
hand, Catch me, the ladder is falling ! ” 

If the ravings of these two suggested a problem to 
all who heard them, its solution was plain to Charlie. 
The next morning he went out on the balcony, at the 
rear of the wing in which his room was situated, and 
saw where Lucy had made her escape by way of the 
ladder. He saw where she had groped about in the 
snow for the lost letter. If he had been puzzled over 
the matter before, it was all clear to him now, and he, 
too, blamed himself severely, as Annette had done, 
for the terrible wanderings of his brother from the 
path of right. His father’s parting words, “ Char- 
lie, my boy, try to fill my place as well as you can,” 
came to his memory as if spoken in his ears. 

It was true that Burton had been headstrong and 
intolerant of restraint, but in how far was he to 
blame for his own example ? They had both been 
trained to a reverence of the word of God, to an ob- 
servance of the Sabbath and the worship of the sanct- 
uary. How far was he responsible for his brother’s 
misdeeds in that he himself had espoused the liber- 
alism ” which denies the authority, the reality, of 
divine things ? 

He had ranked himself with those who question 
the truth of the Bible. He had forsaken the assembly 


Wheee Am I Going?’’ 


of the Lord’s house. He had sought his own pleas- 
ure on the holy day, and though he had not gone to 
the excess of dissipation which had marked his broth- 
er’s swift downward course, he felt that he was in- 
deed the guiltier of the two. Since he had ques- 
tioned the divine authority of the word condemning 
drunkenness and dishonesty, what wonder that his 
younger brother should indulge himself in these sins ? 

Charlie reflected that there must have been an 
effort to take the letter away from Lucy, thus com- 
pelling her to fly from the house, and asked himself : 
“Who was Burton’s companion in crime?” Was it 
not probable that, whoever he was, he was also the un- 
known perpetrator of the attempt on Burton’s life ? 
On committing the deed he was supposed to have 
made his escape by a side door. 

The proprietor of the den of destruction testified 
that on hearing the shot he entered the room to find the 
victim alone, and subsequent investigation had elicited 
no further information. If Werner had any knowl- 
edge in regard to the matter, he perjured himself by 
declaring his entire ignorance. Some suspicion rested 
upon him, but was soon removed in the minds of 
most. There were others who, remembering his 
occupation, shook their heads doubtfully over His 
discharge. 

What wonder that men should be quick to suspect 
the proprietor of a drinking and gambling saloon? 
And yet we sometimes hear such institutions and their 


264 


WoEDS AND Ways. 


heads styled “ respectable ! ” A respectable place for 
luring men to darkness and destruction, both of soul 
and body ! Could any thing be more contradictory ? 

In the days and nights that followed, Charlie Bell 
thought much of the principles which he now saw he 
had simply rejected in the ignorant pride of a so- 
called investigation, which had been merely an eager 
reading of a few shallow tirades against the truth. 

He had not failed to discover this fact while listen- 
ing to Mr. Ford's earnest words, not many days be- 
fore; and on that very night, that terrible night 
which he could not remember without a shudder, he 
had seriously thought of proposing to his brothers 
and sisters that they should all go to the prayer-meet- 
ing. I say, he seriously thought of it ; he shrank, 
however, from the surprised laughter with which he 
felt that Burton and Annette would receive the 
proposal. 

It was the night of the grandest ball of the season. 
“ Annette would sooner lose her soul than miss it,” he 
said to himself ; and as for Burt, the idea of taking 
him to church was out of the question ; so, as he him- 
self had a ticket for the play, he thought he might as 
well get the benefit of it. 

Such are the arguments which Satan is ever ready 
to suggest to those who stop to parley when the 
plain path of duty is before them. 

The play had proved to be one of those celebrated 
moral plays with the morality scrupulously left out. 


265 


‘‘Wheke Am I Going?’’ 

as doubting theater-goers generally lind to be the 
case. 

Charlie Bell, boy though he was, was thoroughly 
disgusted at sight of some of the costumes worn upon 
the stage, costumes not unlike that in which his sister 
was at that time moving in the brilliant light of the 
ball-room. There was a little more of tinsel and glit- 
ter on the dresses of the actresses, perhaps, but that 
was about the only difference. 

How far away it seemed now, that never-to-be- 
forgotten night. O, the “ quiet hours ” had been so 
rare for these young people ; and now that they grew 
into days and weeks, their thoughts were busy with 
the past, and retrospect was burdened with self-ques- 
tioning and remorse. The future, with its painful 
uncertainty, they shrank from contemplating. 

neighbors and friends kindly offered their assist- 
ance in caring for the sick ones, but there was little 
rest or relaxation for the members of the household. 

Annette’s gay friends called occasionally to express 
their sympathy, and tell Annette how sorely they 
missed her from “society,” giving her, however, 
every now and then, sundry bits of gossip strongly 
flavored with self-complacent rivalry and exultation 
over conquests which she had not shared. They 
gradually fell off one by one, and the young girl, thus 
brought face to face with the stern realities of exist- 
ence, recalled, with a little throb of pain, the poet’s 
skeptical query : “ What is frendship but a name ? ” 


266 


Words and Ways. 


Annette would yet learn that it is infinitely more 
than this ; that what she had called friendship 
was as unlike the genuine article as is the spurious, 
corroding coin to the fine gold that cannot be 
dimmed. 

One fall of snow succeeded another until the drifts 
were piled high around the unused windows and 
doors of the old Kectory, and the half-famished birds 
flocked about the house to find food. The little ones 
delighted to feed them, and keenly enjoyed the big 
snow, with all its accompaniments. 

The doctor’s daily visits in his sleigh, the shoveling 
of paths every morning, the great, white, unbroken 
surface of the fields, were all to their young untroub- 
led spirits things of beauty and joy. But to the 
older brother and sister the effect was depressing. 
The vast expanse of the chilling whiteness on the 
earth and the heavy dark clouds overhead seemed a 
part of the great grief and gloom which had come 
into their lives. 

There seemed no ray of light from above, and the 
possibility of a grave — perhaps two — to be made un- 
der the shroud of snow, which now seemed to them 
typical of death itself, made them sick at heart. 

But, gloomy as the prospect seemed to be, at last 
there came a day when Lucy was pronounced much 
better. Dr. Dalton intimated that the recovery was 
a question of careful, patient nursing. This she was 
likely to receive, for both Fidelia and Annette seemed 


“Where Am I Going?” 267 

indefatigable, and Charlie had developed unlooked-for 
talent in that sick-room. 

But if Lucy seemed to have safely passed the 
crisis in which her life seemed hanging by a thread, 
not so with Burton. The doctor’s face was very 
grave, as he came and went day after day. Then 
others were summoned to a consultation. They in- 
dorsed the treatment of the attending physician. All 
was being done that could be done, but would it 
prove of any avail? 

The brother and sister each asked the question 
over and over again as they sat by the bedside. 

Mr. Ford and his kind little wife were their most 
devoted friends in this time of trouble, and gave them 
all the help and comfort that was in their power to 
give ; but a little later the measles appeared among 
their own children, and the Bells saw less of them in 
consequence. 

One night Fidelia was sleeping in the room with 
Lucy, who was slowly but steadily convalescing, and 
Annette and Charlie were to watch with Burton. 

The sister had the first watch. Burton had been 
very feverish and restless during the early hours, but 
toward midnight he seemed to be sleeping quietly. 
Annette was at length feeling very sensibly the fa- 
tigue and loss of sleep which she had so bravely en- 
countered, but with newly-awakened unselfishness she 
shrank from calling Charlie, who had scarcely closed 
his eyes for several nights before. 


268 


Words and Wats. 


She determined to watch as long as she could keep 
herself awake. Burton breathed softly, and no sound 
was heard in the house. 

Annette felt a drowsiness stealing over her, and 
tried to shake it off, but found that she could not. 
She rose and walked quietly about the room until her 
tired limbs refused to support her. She sat down 
again and tried, by repeating Scripture texts and 
scraps of poetry, to keep herself awake, but her 
heavy eyelids fell and she lost consciousness for a 
moment. 

The next instant she was roused by a slight noise, 
and started up to see a face, pale and ghastly, pressed 
against a pane of the window that opened on the 
balcony. It was a strange, frightful-looking face, the 
eyes seemingly of unnatural size, their glassy staring 
depths contrasting with the colorless face. 

It vanished in a moment, and Annette, now wide 
awake, tried to re-assure herself and think that it was 
only the work of her imagination. She sat for an 
hour with her eyes fixed on the spot with a horrible 
kind of fascination, hoping and yet fearing to see the 
appearance again. 

About one o’clock Charlie came unsummoned to 
relieve her, and silently motioned her to go to rest. 
She hesitated for a moment, thinking it possible that 
she had seen a burglar, and that she ought to tell 
Charlie; but fearing to disturb Burton, and half 
doubting the evidence of her own senses, she stole 


269 


“Where Am I Going?'’ 

away, and going to sleep knew nothing more until 
morning. 

“ Lie still, honey, and sleep longer,” was the salu- 
tation which greeted her on awaking ; and Fidelia’s 
kind hands pressed her back on the pillows and 
tucked the blankets around her. “Mrs. Hicks is 
going to stay awhile, and Mr. Hewman came home 
this morning and sent word that he would be over 
presently, so just lie still and get a good rest for to- 
night.” 

Annette yielded to the persuasion, and was soon 
sleeping again. When she rose it was not far from 
noon, and she felt refreshed and strengthened by her 
long rest. 

“ How is Burton ? ” was her first question. Fidelia 
hesitated for a moment. 

“Burton seems rather feverish, and the doctor 
was inclined to think that we had been to blame 
for it; but there hasn’t been a soul in his room 
to-day but Mr. Hewman, Mrs. Hicks, Charhe, and 
myself.” 

“ Did he know Mr. Hewman ? ” asked the sister. 

Fidelia silently filled the tea-kettle, as if that opera- 
tion required her undivided attention. 

“ Yes,” she said, at length, “he knew Mr. Hewman, 
and there’s no accounting for sick people’s fancies ; 
he seemed to be troubled at sight of him, though he 
used to be so fond of the old gentleman. He clerked 
for him in the store for awhile, did he not ? ” 


270 


Words and Ways. 


Annette said she believed he did. 

“ Poor boy! he seems to think now that Mr. "New- 
man has something against him, and begged him not 
to have him arrested. We had all we could do to 
pacify him. Dr. Dalton says we must keep all vis- 
itors out of his room for the present. Sit down and 
eat your dinner, before you go up stairs. You look 
tired and worn out.” 

‘‘ O, I shall do finely ! ” answered Annette, with an 
effort at cheerfulness. “ I have had a good long rest 
and feel much stronger. Is Lucy still better? ” 

“Still better, and getting a wonderful appetite,” 
answered Fidelia, with undisguised satisfaction. 
“ She asked Mrs. Hicks to bring her something to 
eat, saying that I was nearly starving her,” added the 
good old woman, laughing and rubbing her hands, 
while the tears stood in her eyes. “ Please Heaven, 
the dear child will be well enough to take a good 
meal one of these days. She has had a narrow es- 
cape. I don’t think the doctor had much hope of her 
recovery for awhile.” , 

Annette gave a little shiver at the thought of what 
might have been. She was deeply thoughtful and 
strong in her resolution to try to redeem the past by 
her conduct in the future. 

Her late aims and pleasures had lost their charms 
for her while living thus day by day under what 
seemed to be the shadow of death. If only Burton 
were out of danger, she could take up her life at 


“ W HEEE Am I Going ? 


271 


home with joy, devoting her best powers to her own 
loved ones, and gladly foregoing what had but lately 
seemed essential to her happiness. 

Annette’s presence in his room seemed to quiet 
Burton sometimes, when every thing else failed ; and 
when the doctor called and found her, as he often did, 
sitting by her brother’s bedside in her plain, neatly- 
fitting dress, holding the patient’s hand and soothing 
him with quiet words, he contrasted her in his 
thoughts with the bare-shouldered, jeweled young 
lady whom he had met on the night of the tragedy, 
and mentally pronounced her now “clothed and in 
her right mind.” 

On this morning Annette found her brother in a 
state of unusual excitement. He clutched her fingers 
nervously as she laid her hand on his arm, and asked, 
wildly : 

“ Where am I going ? ” 

She talked in low tones and tried to soothe him, 
but he held her hand with a grasp like that of the 
drowning, and every now and then repeated his ques- 
tion : “ Where am I going ? Hold me back, I am 
not ready ! ” he continued, wildly. “ I cannot go yet, 
there is something I must do. Tell me what it is. 
Tell me, help me ! ” he insisted. 

Annette’s distress was keen ; but, striving to sup- 
press her feelings, she at last succeeded in composing 
the sick boy, and watched him fall asleep, praying, O, 
how fervently in her heart, that at least he might not 


272 


Words and Ways. 


' be called away until be should be given time and op- 
portunity for repentance and acceptance of the 
Saviour of sinners. 

When evening came again Burton’s fever seemed 
higher than on the previous one, and Annette in- 
sisted upon watching, knowing that he would be 
more quiet with her than with any one else. 

When all the others had retired, and all the house 
was silent, the occurrence of the night before came up 
in her mind almost for the first time. 

She placed her chair in such a position that she 
could watch Burton, and also see the spot where the 
face had appeared at the window. 

But it was long before Burton slept, and her atten- 
tion was given to him, to the exclusion of every other 
thought. At last, however, the tossing arms became 
quiet ; the flushed face, with its white bandaged fore- 
head that had been rolling from side to side on the 
pillow, was still ; the breathing indicated that the suf- 
ferer was asleep. 

Then, on consulting the time, her thoughts went 
.back to the face at the window. There was a spice 
of superstition in her nature, and she presently found 
her imagination running upon the subject of appari- 
tions. She had lost all faith in modern spiritualism, 
so-called, but she had yet a lingering credence for 
what she styled in her thoughts “ the regular old- 
fashioned ghost that walks at night and is wont to 
frequent old rambling, long-deserted houses.” 


“Where Am I Going?” 


273 


She had given no thought to such things for a long 
time, but to-night there came back to her a story 
which had been told her of the time when the old 
Hectory was full of life, and the now quiet parlors, 
chambers, and large unused rooms, furnished school- 
rooms, refectories, and dormitories for the crowds of 
boys, large and small, who gathered yearly under the 
wide-spreading roof. The story was a sad one, of an 
orphan boy, who had been placed in the institution by 
his uncle while he went abroad. When the boy en- 
tered the school he was well dressed and had plenty 
of spending money. But the uncle was never heard 
from again, and Lawrence Bussel was at last reduced 
to the necessity of laboring in the school for his 
board and tuition. He made fires, swept the rooms, 
sawed wood, and did other work to which, as his deli- 
cate hands showed, he had never before been accus- 
tomed. There was nothing degrading in this strug- 
gle with circumstances over which he had no control. 
Some of the noblest workers for God and humanity 
whom the world has ever known have had their char- 
acters rounded and polished by the necessity of brave, 
unyielding effort in the hand-to-hand struggle with 
poverty. 

But this youth was proud spirited, and rebelled 
against his lot, especially as many of the pupils treated 
him contemptuously on account of it. He was de- 
liberately snubbed and put down whenever occasion 
offered. If he expressed an opinion, it was scornfully 
18 


274 Words and Ways. 

ignored, and whenever any game was planned, they 
left him out. 

He grew morbid and morose, and finally ceased to 
speak to any one, unless addressed by one of the 
teachers. To his fellow-students he made no re- 
marks and no responses, and for two full years the 
other boys never heard his voice except in recitations, 
although he slept in a room occupied by twenty 
students. 

He was called by some one jeeringly “ The Silent 
Boy.” The name came to be used afterward without 
any thought of ridicule. He applied himself to his 
books with unsparing devotion, and, on graduating, 
took the highest honors of his class. 

There were those among his fellow-students wdio 
had learned to respect him, and some of them con- 
gratulated him sincerely on the victory which he had 
gained. Lawrence bowed silently, but a fiush crept 
over his pale face, up to his forehead, the first sign 
of feeling he had shown for more than a year. 

His close application to his studies, and his unspar- 
ing devotion to the work he had undertaken to do for 
liis own support, had long been undermining his 
health, and the day after commencement found him 
completely prostrated. It was thought that rest and 
recreation might restore his strength, but he never 
left the house afterward, except for a short drive. 

“ He had the biggest, darkest eyes I ever saw,” 
said Annette’s informant ; and as his face grew paler 


“Where Am I Going? 


275 


and thinner day by day, and his eyes grew brighter 
and more hollow, he looked as one imagines a ghost 
looks.’’ 

The good old rector gave him a private room, and 
lavished every attention upon him which kindness and 
skill could give ; but it was soon evident that his days 
were numbered. He seemed in a measure to relent 
toward those whose ungenerous treatment had em- 
bittered his school-life. When the boys went to his 
room he greeted them with a smile and an out- 
stretched hand, but without a word. His long-ob- 
served silence seemed a barrier which he could not 
pass. And they in turn came and went silently, feel- 
ing with keen pain the tacit rebuke which continued to 
the end. 

While we must condemn the morbid sensitiveness 
that could allow itself to be so incurably wounded, do 
we not see the deformity of that spirit which cannot 
refrain from wounding at every opportunity? Do 
you not think that when those boys looked upon the 
face of their fellow-pupil in the coffin, their hearts 
would have been less heavy if they could have re- 
membered that they had done what they could to 
make his burdens lighter ? 

Ah, my friends, there comes a time to e^ch when 
the recollection of unkindness done to another brings 
a sharp recoil of pain that is even keener than the 
blow we gave. We involuntarily shrink from the 
thought of an unkind act or word toward the dead. 


276 


Words and Ways. 


Let us not forget, amid tlie strifes, resentments, and 
rivalries of earth, that the time will come to all to'lie 
in the awful passivity of death, unoffending, unan- 
swering, unresisting. In anticipation of such a 
moment, can we not be more forbearing, more for- 
giving now ? 

But to return to Annette. The story of “ The 
Silent Boy ” kept running through her mind, and the 
description of the sick student’s eyes recalled viviflly 
the strange staring orbs in the white face that had 
looked through the window. 

You have seen that Annette was inclined to be 
credulous, and perhaps you will not be surprised 
when I tell you that she fell to wondering whether 
the appearance which she had seen was not the ghost 
of “ The Silent Boy ” come back to haunt the scene 
of his trials and conquests. 

It was nearing the hour when she had seen the face, 
would it appear again ? Burton was sleeping quietly, 
and she kept her eyes fixed on the window. The 
hands crept nearer and nearer to the time, and An- 
nette found herself actually trembling with expectation. 

A little later she heard a noise outside the door, as 
of some one trying to walk noiselessly in boots that 
creaked slightly. She knew it was not Charlie com- 
ing, for he always wore slippers in the sick-room ; 
but then, she reflected, a ghost would not be likely to 
wear creaking boots. It might have been a swinging 
door somewhere. She was still watching the window 


“ Where Am I Going 


277 


with a seeming fascination which she could not resist. 
It was now a little past the time for wliich she had 
been waiting. 

A moment later she heard the creaking sound 
again, this time just behind her chair. She started 
and looked around in a frightened way. There was 
the face she had seen before, but more plainly visible 
now ; yet though a finger was held up warningly, she 
soon learned that her strange visitor was not “ The 
Silent Boy.” 

“ Pray don’t be frightened,” he said, in a low tone. 
“I mean no harm. I came in from the balcony 
through the anteroom. I felt as if I must see Bart. 
You know who I am, I suppose.” 

Annette had, indeed, guessed at his identity from 
the green glasses, which she now saw were the cause 
of the strange, staring expression which had so 
startled her. 

“ I am Mat Walters,” he went on. “ It was I who 
did it. I am not hiding to escape justice. If he dies, 
I shall give myself up. I shall want them to hang 
me. I could not bear to live and suffer more than I 
am suffering now. But I wanted to be free to come 
here now and then to see if he were living or dying, 
and what Mr. Newman was Hkely to do if he recov- 
ered. It is all my fault that he took the money, and 
I want to bear the blame that belongs to me. I 
know you will believe me and not betray me,” he 
added, beseechingly. Looking at his pale, agonized 


2Y8 WoEDs AND Ways. 

featui es, Annette could not refuse to comply with his 
wishes. 

“ If he should die,” he shuddered as he spoke, ‘‘you 
will hear that I have been arrested. If he should 
live, it would be in my power to help him.” 

He again turned toward the bed. 

“ We were both drunk and gambling,” he said, as if 
to himself. “Both are to blame, though I am the 
guiltier of the two ; but a heavier weight of blame 
rests somewhere else. We both learned to drink and 
play cards at evening parties given by ladies wIiq call 
themselves Christians ! ” 

The young man’s lips curled scornfully as they 
spoke the name which had been thus dishonored. 
Annette ventured no reply. The visitor stood look- 
ing silently at his victim for a few minutes, and then 
withdrew as silently as he had come. 


1 


Back; to tsk Old Home. 


279 


CHAPTEK XXIY. 

BACK TO THE OLD HOME. 

“ Thou turnest man to destruction; and sayest, Return, ye children 
of men. . . . Thou earnest them away as with a flood ; they are as a 
sleep.” — Psa. xc, 3, 5. 

D ay after day passed, and the snow disappeared 
from the hills and valleys, but the dark clouds 
still hung above the earth, and the very windows of 
heaven seemed to stand open. The rain fell for 
weeks almost without cessation. Umbrellas jostled 
one another on the streets, and the atmosphere was 
heavy with moisture. 

The swollen brooks and creeks poured out their 
waters, and still the rain-fall went on. If the time 
was a gloomy and trying one to those who were in 
good health, and able, in a measure, to shake off its 
depressing influences, what must it have been to the 
occupants of sick chambers, with their narrow range 
of vision and tiresome routine, added to the mental 
gloom so generally consequent upon physical indispo- 
sition ? 

It had been many days since Dr. Dalton had begun 
his visits at the old Kectory on that memorable night. 
The theater and the infidel reading-room had received 


280 


Words and Ways. 


no more visits from Charlie Bell. The ball-room 
dress which had been exchanged with burning cheeks 
for more suitable attire on that occasion, and thrown 
in a crumpled heap into the press, was lying there 
yet. 

Annette had not fallen sick from the exposure 
which she had incurred then and afterward, but her 
pale face told of days and nights of sleeplessness and 
anxiety. 

There were still some true friends who came and 
gave of their time and strength to aid in caring for 
the sick ; and Lucy, contrary to her habit before her 
illness, welcomed all who came. 

O I am so glad you have come ! ” she would say, 
“ I was so tired of every thing and every body.” 

Burton, on the contrary, shrank from visitors, 
especially his old associates. In the. intervals of free- 
dom from fever, when his mind seemed lucid, he 
spoke to no one unless in reply to questions ; but when 
in the delirium of fever, if any of his former com- 
panions entered his room, his agitation was greatly 
increased. 

Mattliew Walters frequently came to inquire, 
while Annette was watching with her brother. He 
often wished that he might talk with the sufferer, and 
hear from his lips that he forgave him ; but both he 
and Annette feared the consequences of making his 
presence known. And so he came and went quietly, 
while Burton was asleep. 


281 


Back to the Old Home. 

The life of the wounded boy was trembling in the 
balance, and the miserable one whose hand had thus 
laid him low was experiencing something of that 
remorse which doubtless makes no inconsiderable 
part of the punishment of the lost. He often wished, 
with unavailing pain, that he had never seen the 
revolver which he had once prided himself on pos- 
sessing. He wished that he had never learned the 
harmless game,” the fascination of which had lured 
him on and on to the doors of a gambling hell. 

He wished that he had never been tempted to taste 
the burning poison which had fired his brain and 
made him, in all probability, a murderer. 

A murderer at sixteen ! How young to die for his 
crimes ! and O, how young to begin a life which, if 
spared, must lengthen out its slow, sad years ever en- 
folded as with a funeral pall by the ghastly memory 
of his sin ! How many have wished in futile agony 
that the instrument of death used in the heat of anger 
or the insanity of drunkenness had been beyond their 
reach, till reason had been given time to resume her 
sway ! And while there is no excuse for the insanity 
of passion or intoxication, the sickening frequency of 
murder and suicide, together with an appalling array 
of accidents, calls loudly for a reform of the great 
evil of the indiscriminate use of fire-arms. 

There was a time when the habitual carrying of 
weapons branded the man as a ruffian and desperado ; 
and would not such a verdict still carry with it much 


282 


Words and Ways. 


of truth ? Can any man be rightly called a gentle- 
man who goes and comes, ever on the alert for prov- 
ocation to use his weapons, ever ready at a real or 
fancied insult or injustice to shed the blood of his 
fellow-man ? 

Alas for the heart which knows such an utter 
absence of the spirit of the Master ! W e must all 
meet with more or less of unkind treatment, and 
though we cannot prevent a rising indignation often- 
times, we can fulfill the injunction : “ Be ye angry, and 
sin not.’’ We can give ourselves timejto refiect that 
a. mean and unworthy act must injure the actor far 
more in the end than the recipient of the injustice. 

There is a nobility in forgiveness, a superiority in 
overlooking insults ; but far above this consideration 
is that of our Saviour’s teaching and example : 

‘^But I say unto you. That ye resist not evil.” 
“ When he was reviled, reviled not again.” “ He 
is brought as a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep 
before her shearer is dumb, so he openeth not his 
mouth.” 

If He, the pure and faultless, the high and holy, 
could thus suffer in silence, what are we, with all our 
imperfections, that we should give way to our resent- 
ment against our fellow-sinners ? 

Again it was the silent night-time, and all were 
asleep, except Annette. A friend had watched on the 
previous night, and she felt much refreshed by the 
unbroken rest thus gained. Burton was thought to 


Back to the Old Home. 


283 


be a little better. Mr. Hewman bad called in the 
evening, as he did every day. Whatever had been 
Burton’s offense against him, his father’s old friend 
evidently entertained for the boy only the kindest 
feelings. 

He, too, often went to Burton’s room while he was 
asleep, and bent over him with a face full of pity and 
concern. 

Mat Walters had been promised an interview to- 
night with the one whom he had so deeply injured. 

The rain still fell with its monotonous drip, drip, 
and the sound suggested the slow but steady re-en- 
forcement of the great volume of water, that already 
rose high in the banks of the river. Ho serious ap- 
prehensions were yet felt, for the rise was very 
gradual, but there were many who remembered with 
some uneasiness that a number of the houses at the 
back part of the town — the old Rectory among the 
number — were below the level of the embankment. 

Still the river had never overflowed its banks with- 
in the recollection o^ the oldest inhabitants, and what 
has never been we are prone to tell ourselves will 
never be. 

So Annette was not greatly troubled as she listened 
to the rain and felt a pleasant sense of shelter and 
protection on such a night. She wondered if Mat 
would be able to keep the appointment which he had 
made. Then she wondered whether she were doing 
right or wrong to allow him to come and go thus 


284 


WoKDs AND Ways. 


secretly. His pain and penitence were so evidently 
real that she could not bring herself to inform on 
him ; and what good, she asked herself, could it do 
the wounded boy to bury the one who had injni’ed 
him within the walls of a prison ? 

She had looked for him by the door, but to night 
he came to the window instead ; and when she went 
near he whispered, hoarsely, 

‘‘ I cannot come in ; I am dripping wet. The boat 
was on this side, and I was obliged to swim the creek. 
How is Burt ? ” 

“ A little better,” answered Annette. “ He spoke 
of you again to-day, and seemed to want you. It 
may do him good to see you. You will find some of 
Charlie’s clothes in the anteroom. Be as quick as 
you can ; he is about to wake.” 

The face at the window disappeared, and Annette 
went back to the bedside. 

“ What is it that I hear all the time like the rattle 
of a dice-box ? ” asked the sick boy, impatiently. 

‘Ht is only the rain pattering against the window ; 
you know there are no shutters on that side,” an- 
swered the sister, soothingly. 

Burton rolled his head on the pillow uneasily. 

‘‘ ‘ Upon the wicked he shall rain snares, fire and 
brimstone, and a horrible tempest : this shall be the 
portion of their cup,’ ” repeated Burton. “ Miss Max- 
well once gave me a card for learning that verse. It 
means me. The wicked, snares, fire and brimstone. 


Back to the Old Home. 


2So 


and a horrible tempest,” he repeated, shudderinglj, 
as the wind brought a fresh dash of rain against the 
panes. 

Annette was sorely troubled. She wished that it 
was Mr. Ford who was in the anteroom shortly to 
appear at her brother’s bedside. She wished she could 
think of something to say to Burton. She had once 
been a daily reader of the Bible, and had memorized 
many passages ; but now there seemed to come to her 
none of the gracious promises and invitations of the 
Gospel, but only such texts as these : 

“The soul that sinneth, it shall die.” “Your 
iniquities have separated between you and jonr God, 
and your sins have hid his face from you, that he 
will not hear.” 

The patient’s fever was rapidly increasing, and 
Annette began to fear the excitement of Mat’s visit 
should he come in ; but he did not come. Whether 
he was afraid of the effect of his presence on Burt, 
or whether he feared exposure for himself, the min- 
utes dragged on until it was time for Charlie to re- 
lieve Annette, and then she knew that he was gone. 
She went to sleep to dream that he had been arrested 
on the balcony, and that she narrowly escaped impris- 
onment for complicity. 

On the following morning the water was found to 
have risen to the ground floor, and there was no pros- 
pect of abatement. Inch by inch it crept upward and 
still upward, until it had covered all the floors below 


286 Words and Ways. 

stairs, and then it stealthily began to ascend the 
walls. 

Soon came the novel spectacle of boats passing up 
and down the streets. The cattle crow^ded together 
on such rising ground as they could find, and lowed 
mournfully. The day passed with a slow but sure 
advance of the dreaded element until it was forced 
back through the creeks over nearly all the surround- 
ing country. The doctor landed at the door, and 
made his way by means of a raft to the staircase of 
the old Kectory. 

Annette had sent a request to Mr. Ford to call, if 
possible. She knew that her poor brother was even 
more sorely in need of a physician for his soul than 
for his perishable body, and she felt that the minister 
of God could point the way to the great Healer more 
surely than any one else. But when the pastor came 
Burton seemed to be in a stupor, and unconscious of 
his presence. Fervent prayer was offered at his bed- 
side, that he might be restored to health, and tlmt his 
soul might be cleansed in the fountain opened for sin 
and for all uncleanness. The sufferer gave no sign, 
by word or motion, that he understood ; but the 
watchful sister saw the tears start from his closed eye- 
lids as Mr. Ford passed out of the room, and the sight 
awakened joy in her heart. 

After he had gone Annette waited in vain, hoping 
that Burton would rouse up ; but he did not speak 
even when she tried to encourage him to do so. It was 


Back to the Old Home. 287 

not until late at night that he made any allusion to the 
visit. 

He had seemed unusually restless, turning his head 
from side to side, as if in great pain. At last he 
opened his eyes, and, looking fixedly at his sister, 
said : 

“ Annette, you need not send for Mr. Ford again 
on my account. It is too late for me, but O, Hettie, 
don’t wait until you come to die to make your peace 
with God. Don’t wait until you are about to leave this 
world to prepare to go. I tell you it is a poor time 
to get ready for such a journey.” 

Annette burst into a fit of weeping and left the 
room. O, could it be that Burton was really about 
to die, and that he must go unprepared ? She would 
have called Fidelia, but, owing to her loss of hearing, 
she could not understand the sick boy’s feeble words. 
She hurriedly called Charlie, and begged him to go 
and talk to Burton. Then, going to her room, she 
threw herself on her bed and wept such bitter tears 
as she had never known before. 

The presence of death is always saddening, but, O ! 
the sorrow that is not without hope, the sorrow for 
loved ones who have gone home, is a blessed sorrow 
compared with the poignancy of pain which belongs 
to a bereavement that is not only sorrow but despair. 

When Charlie took Annette’s place at Burton’s 
bedside he tried to quiet his brother, but his efforts 
produced the contrary effect. 


288 


WoEDs AND Ways. 


See here, Charlie,” he said, in a stronger voice 
than he had used since his injury, “ don’t talk to me 
as if I were a child or a crazy person. I have thought 
and thought about these things when you all believed 
me to be asleep. I know^ what I am talking about as 
well as you do — better,” he added, for I believe I 
can see beyond this world. You remember that 
mamma thought she could before she died ; and she 
was not afraid to meet what was before her. But, O 
Charlie, it is not so with me ! I am horribly afraid 
to die. I would give the whole world, if I owned it, 
only to have time to get ready to go.” 

Charlie tried to speak, but his brother put up his 
hand. 

“ Let me talk until I am done,” he said. “ There 
is something else. Charlie, old fellow,” here his voice 
trembled, “ we have not been just the same brothers 
to each other that we used to be in the good old times 
at home, but I have felt more than I seemed some- 
times. That is all past ; but I want to say to you, 
Charlie, that you would better cut loose from Gene 
Lothay, and that class, and give up freethinking and 
all that. I can tell you it will not help you much 
when you come to stand where I do. If I die give 
my watch to Mr. ^Newman, and tell him I was sorry. 
He will understand. How go down to the library 
and get my writing-desk.” 

Charlie hesitated. 

“ Don’t be afraid to leave me. I will be perfectly 


Back to the Old Home. 


289 


quiet until you come back. Go and bring the desk, 
Charlie,” he repeated. 

The brother left the room and made his way to the 
stairs, below which the water shone in the light of 
the swinging lamp, showing that it was still rising. 
Then it was that the thought first came to him that 
he could not go into the library. 

Most of the contents of the room had been carried 
up stairs, but the writing-desk, together with some 
other articles, had been placed on a high shelf. 
Charlie went down stairs wondering if it were possi- 
ble to accomplish his purpose by means of the raft. 
He stepped on it and began to unfasten it from the 
banister. At that moment there came a sound that, 
to his startled ears, was like the roar of a cataract. 
He started to return, but a gust of wind blew out the 
lamp, and lie lost his footing and found himself 
fioundering in the water, with the terrible rush and 
roar momentarily drawing nearer. 

He struggled blindly to regain the stairs, and at 
last succeeded just as a great swell of water washed 
through the door-way. Clinging to the banister he 
struggled up to what he considered a place of safety. 
At the top of the stairs he met Fidelia and Annette, 
with white faces, the former carrying a lamp. 

“May the gooS Father preserve us in this crazy 
old house, at such a time ! ” she exclaimed, devoutly. 
“ The river has overflowed its banks.” 

“Who is with Burton?” asked Annette, in a 
19 


290 


Words and Ways. 


startled way, as there came to their ears a rumbling 
crashing sound entirely different from that which had 
filled them before. It was the falling of a chimney, 
as they afterward learned. 

“Ho one,” answered Charlie ; “ he sent me to get 
his writing-desk. Come and stay with him until I 
change my clothes.” 

Annette went to the children’s room, and Fidelia 
followed Charlie, as he led the way with the lamp. 

Suddenly he started back, almost knocking down 
his companion, who followed close behind him. 
What did it mean ? Was he dreaming, or was it the 
impress yet remaining on his sight of the hashing of 
the light upon the water ? Ho, he could not be mis- 
taken ; it was no ocular delusion. A vast sheet of 
water spread before him, almost at his very feet. 

“ Part of the house has given away. O, Burton, 
Burton ! ” he groaned, in agony. 

It was even so. The entire wing in which the 
brothers’ room was situated had disappeared. I will 
not try to tell of the grief and terror of that awful 
night — that night of inky darkness and pouring rain. 
Its disasters were many and varied. There was some- 
thing like dumb despair at the old Rectory. One of 
the inmates swept away in the darkness, helpless and 
despairing, and the angry waters swelling and rising 
nearer and nearer to those that remained. 

Before the tumult and terror prevailing on all 
sides had somewhat subsided, and Burton Bell’s fat^ 


Back to the Old Home. 


291 


was understood, the wing, with its helpless inmate, 
must have been borne far away by the irresistible 
current. 

The days passed and the water returned to its place 
at the fiat of that One who has said : Hitherto 
shalt thou come, but no further : and here shall thy 
proud waves be stayed.” The desolation that followed 
the receding fiood needs no description from my pen. 
Its story has filled the land. Its records are written 
indelibly in the lives of many. Of those who were 
called to pass through its deep waters, and of those 
whoy walking in the Master’s footsteps, conceived in 
noble, generous hearts and wrought with lavish hands 
a ministry that could not fail to link together souls, 
however widely sundered by place and circumstances 
— one end of the golden chain held by the chiefest of 
the Christian graces. Love, the other grasped by death- 
less Gratitude. 

The reeking dampness of the old Kectory began to 
yield to the influence of the fires that were kept con- 
stantly burning. Lucy, who had experienced a re- 
lapse, was again improving. 

There was now no need for watchers, but the long, 
dreary nights witnessed many sleepless hours. At 
first the younger children had been pacified and com- 
forted with the hope that Burton was still alive and 
would be found and brought home again. But as 
the days and weeks passed, and communication both 
by telegraph and mail was restored, the faint hope 


292 


Words and Ways. 


which the older ones had tried to grasp had gradu- 
ally yielded to despair. It was one of the severest 
trials of that dreadful time to hear Lonnie or Komie 
say every morning, 

“ I do hope we shall hear from Burt to-day ; ” or, 
May he Burt will come home to-day.” 

Charlie and Annette were feeling daily that each 
new day was at most more than they could bear, as 
trembling fear merged into awful certainty. 

At last the searchers for Burton or his lifeless body 
found that portion of the old house in which he had 
been carried away, now empty and dismantled. Ah, 
who could tell where at that moment was the poor 
boy who, in view of his mistaken, worse than wasted, 
past, had said that he was “ awfully afraid to die ? ” 

His friends tried earnestly to hope that it might 
have been with him as with the dying thief on the 
cross. This thought was the only drop of relief in 
the cup of their bitter sorrow. 

It has been said that the Bible records one instance 
of conversion in the hour of death, that none who are 
truly penitent need despair ; but only one, that none 
may be encouraged to defer repentance until that sol- 
emn time. 

Charlie Bell, in his pain and remorse for his own 
unfaithfulness as an elder brother, suffered so keenly 
that it seemed at times as if he would lose his mind. 
He wandered continually from room to room of the 
rambling old house, as if in search of something^ 


Back to the Old Home. 293 

often rising at night and opening the door which had 
led to that part of the house where had been the room 
occupied by himself and Burton. 

How often in the trials and perplexities of life are 
we brought to see the loving-kindness of our heav- 
enly Father. It is of the Lord’s mercies that we are 
not consumed, because his compassions fail not.” 

It seemed very, very dark to these afflicted ones of 
whom I am telling you. It seemed as if no bright- 
ness could ever again illumine their lives ; and yet 
God, in his mercy, was even then preparing for them 
a ray of light which would render their sorrow at 
least less lonely, with a greater blessing to follow. 

One evening they were seated together around the 
parlor fire, Annette heroically trying to amuse the 
younger children, and Charlie brooding silently over 
the terrible experience which had lately come to 
them. 

The door-bell rang and the little ones roused up 
and looked expectant, hoping that kind, cheery Mrs. 
Hicks had come to spend the evening, or that good 
old Mr. Hewman had returned from his protracted 
absence. But no, a strange-looking gentleman en- 
tered, and looked from one to another questioningly 
for a moment. 

“Don’t you know me, children?” he asked, at 
length. 

Then Annette sprang up with the eager cry, “ O 
Uncle Tom ! ” 


294 


Words and Ways. 


And tlien the others welcomed him as cordially. 
It was a meeting of joy and sadness. It was as if 
the living had suddenly vanished out of their lives, 
and one long since dead had come back to them. 
There was much to tell and to hear. There was the 
sad, sad" story of Burton’s fate, and also of his sin ; for 
though they spoke lovingly and tenderly of the miss 
ing one, they told it all, even to the discloseure on 
Annette’s part of Mat Walter’s confession and re- 
morse. 

“ I believe that he, too, was lost in the flood, or he 
would before now have given himself up, since he 
must have known, from what Burton said that night, 
that he was going to die,” she concluded. 

The others might not feel so confident of the gen- 
uineness of the young man’s repentance; but to 
Annette there came no shadow of a doubt as to his 
sincerity. Could she have known that at that very 
moment he was listening at a window of the room 
where they were sitting, she might have lost her 
faith in him. 

Uncle Tom talked tenderly of their father’s death 
and present blessedness, and hopefully of the limit- 
less power of God to save even to the uttermost ; 
and then he told them of his own adventures, a story 
of shipwreck and peril, of enforced delay in coming 
home, and of repeated fruitless efforts to communicate 
with them. He told them, too,' of a gentle, sweet- 
voiced lady, whom he wished them to take into their 


Back to the Old Home. 295 

hearts and to call “ Aunt Eleanor,” his wife, of whom 
they had never heard before. 

Then came a discussion of the difficulties which had 
led to their removal from the home which was theirs 
by the clearest right, as they might have learned had 
they been less hasty. 

They had learned this fact some time before, but 
having faljen into the whirlpool of the life at Pleas- 
ant Hill, they had authorized Mr. Clark to rent the 
old home, and chose to remain where they were. 
The thought came with a pang that Burton’s death 
was one result of that impulsive, hasty removal. 

“ Of course, you must go back at once,” continued 
the uncle. “ The house is vacant now, and will be 
ready for you by the first of next month.” 

The time was not far off, but no objection was 
offered. There was comfort in the thought of re- 
turning to the old familiar spot and meeting the 
well remembered faces. There was comfort in the 
thought of leaving behind them the scene of so much 
error and so much sorrow. If only Burton were 
there to go also ! 

It was late that night before the inmates of the old 
Bectory retired, and then there was little sleep for 
any. The joy of Uncle Tom’s return, while very 
genuine, was overshadowed by sorrow. The burden 
of every heart was, “ O, if Burton were only here, 
too!” 

Preparations for return to Plainville went forward 


296 


WoEDs AND Ways* 


rapidlj. The little ones talked gleefully “ of going 
home,” and all were glad to go, although there were 
not a few real friends at Pleasant Hill to whom they 
would be sorry to say good-bye. 

Mr. Ford came to see them often during the re- 
mainder of their stay, and the good old doctor, whose 
grim ways betokened no lack of heart warmth, called 
almost daily to the last, not professionally, though he 
usually felt Lucy’s pulse and ended by pinching 
her cheek, ‘‘ to give it a little color,” he explained. 

“ I congratulate you on your removal,” he said, one 
day. “We call this ‘ Pleasant Hill,’ but I think our 
late experience would justify a petition that the 
name be changed to ‘Unpleasant Plain.’ Why, sir,” 
addressing Uncle Tom, “ the whole region is literally 
reeking with miasma, and I shall have more fever 
patients on my hands than I shall know' what to do 
with. What do you say to halving the burden with 
me?” 

Uncle Tom, who was also a physician, declined 
the offer of a share of Dr. Dalton’s practice. He 
wanted to be near his brother’s children and try to 
help them to walk in the better way toward which 
their feet were now carefully turning. 

A few earnest talks with his uncle and Mr. Ford, 
and a little careful reading of his mother’s Bible, had 
dissipated the last cobwebs of infidelity that lingered 
in the mind of Charlie Bell. He was now a daily 
student of the volume which he had heard reviled 


Back to the Old Home. 297 

so often. He was now sincerely seeking for the 
truth, instead of being engaged, as formerly, in a 
search for arguments to disprove it. 

The time passed and the day fixed for their return 
home drew near. There had been no tidings of the 
lost one. They had not even had the sad privilege 
of laying his body away to rest, and planting fiowers 
on his grave. And yet, unacknowledged to each 
other, or indeed even to their own hearts, there had 
glimmered the faint, faint hope that he might yet 
come back and go with them. 

They had not ceased to mourn their father’s 
death, though they had so sadly wandered from the 
way which he would have chosen for them ; but their 
hearts were at rest regarding his eternal welfare. 
Besides, his death was in no way connected with their 
mistakes and sins, and they felt a degree of recon- 
ciliation to the thought of his departure which they 
could not as yet feel in connection with that of 
Burton. 

But the last day came, the last hour, and the Bells 
bade good-bye to the home which held for them 
some pleasant memories, yet more that were full of 
sadness. 

“We will not forget Solon nor White-foot this 
time,” said Lonnie, gleefully, dancing about on the 
piazza. “Do you know. Uncle Tom, we forgot 
them when we ran away, and had to go back after 
them.” 


298 


Words and Ways. 


We !” repeated Lucy, laughing, how many of 
us went back ? ” 

“ Well, Charlie went back, and Burton was sure 
the sheriff had caught him, he stopped so long,” ex- 
plained the little boy. “ And then Burton forgot 
the road, and we went to such a good old lady’s 
house. I wish we would get lost that way again. I 
would tell her that the rabbits she gave me died, and 
may be she would give me another pair. Burt would 
like to go, if he were here, on account of the fried 
chicken.” 

The child prattled on, little knowing what acute 
pain his words were giving to his older brother and 
sisters. Every thing was suggestive of the absent 
one. Every remembered spot along the way was 
fraught with sadness, too. Burton had been with 
them when they passed that way before. What he 
had said and done all came back to them with won- 
derful vividness. Dr. Bell was obliged to exert him- 
self to his utmost to cheer the minds of his young rel- 
atives, and divert them into other channels of thought 
than those connected with their recent sorrow. 

The day was dark and cloudy, and about noon a 
slow misty rain began to fall. Upon the whole the 
journey was not a very pleasant one; but as they 
entered Plain ville the clouds uplifted from the west 
and the sun set in a blaze of glory. The last bright 
beams lighted up the old house as they drove up, 
and Aunt Eleanor came out to welcome them. 


Back to the Old Home. 


299 


And then they saw — what did it mean? They 
could scarcely believe their eyes. Some one in an 
invalid-chair drawn up very close to the window, 
some one looking very white and thin, but with the 
same dark, bright eyes, the same old smile. Could 
it be Burton ? 

‘‘ O, Uncle Tom ! ” gasped a chorus of voices. But 
Uncle Tom was as much mystified as any of them. 
How they all alighted, how they made their way 
into the house and met Aunt Eleanor and Burton — 
for it was indeed he — they never could tell. It was 
“ like a dream when one awaketh.” 

When there was time and breath for explanation 
it was all made plain. Burton told them how the 
miserable boy who had wounded him had, on the 
night of the catastrophe, been haunting the house, in 
the hope of being able to learn something of his con- 
dition ; how he had not been far off when the current 
carried away that part of the house where the sick- 
room was ; how he had seen, by the light still burning, 
the helpless situation of the one whom he had injured, 
and rowing desperately to the swaying, leaning frag- 
ment of a house at the mercy of the water, he had, at 
the risk of his own life, deserted his boat for the 
perilous place of the one whom he wished to save 
from death. 

He had with great difficulty induced Burton to 
remain perfectly quiet, and with the first appearance 
of light had begun a series of calls and signals, long 


300 


Words and Ways. 


unavailiDg, as they were floating through a sparsely 
settled district. He sometimes saw persons on the 
hill-sides, but they had no boats and could give no 
aid. 

When at last they were rescued by a boat ‘‘ manned 
by two women,” as Burton expressed it, he was, as he 
said, more dead than alive. 

The narrator grew eloquent over the heroic devo- 
tion and tireless efforts of Mat Walters to make 
amends for his fault, and the care and kindness 
which he had received in the humble home where 
his lot had fallen. 

“ Mat found out that you were coming back, and 
it was he who brought me here on yesterday,” he said. 
“He has given up drinking and gambling, and is 
honestly trying to seek the right way. He has gone 
to his home in the country, and, of course, he will be 
left in peace. Ho one should think of trying to have 
him arrested for the part which he took on that 
miserable night.” 

“ I assure you I was as much to blame as he, and I 
owe it to him that I am alive to-day.” ^ 

He paused a moment and then added, softly : 

“ And O, I found the way of peace in that road- 
side cabin. I found the Saviour whom I had slighted 
so long. I am glad to be alive, but I am no longer 
afraid to die.” 

A few days later who should make his appearance 
at Plain ville but Mr. Hewman. He had a long pri- 


301 


Bace; to the Old Home. 

vate interview with Burton, from which he came 
without the watch which had been sent to him, and 
wiping his eyes vigorously while he muttered to 
himself : 

‘‘ Bless the boy ! he is his father’s own son, after 
all.” 

My reader, need I dwell longer on this part of my 
story ? Heed I try to give you a picture of the 
peace and joy of the boys and girls of my story, of 
their happiness in the old-new life upon which they 
have now entered ? It will have its trials and sorrows, 
for earth no longer knows a spot called Paradise, but 
having tried the paths that lead to stumbling on the 
dark mountains, they have verified the promise : 

“ Thus saith the Lord, Stand ye in the ways, and 
see, and ask for the old paths, where is the good way, 
and walk therein, and ye shall find rest for your 
souls.” 

0, Saviour, thou who here below 
Didst tread the one right way, 

Leaving thy foot-prints on the earth, 

That none need go astray. 

Incline our hearts to follow thee, 
a To walk where thou bast trod, 

To choose, in darkness as in light. 

The way that leads to God. 

We know that sin’s sad heights are reached 
By flowery paths and fair ; 

That oft the bright, alluring road 
Leads down to dark despair; 


302 


WoEDS AND Ways. 


0 let us never seek to tread 
The highway smooth and broad, 

But choose, in darkness or in light, 

The way that leads to God. 

Send out thy light, thy truth to guide, 
Subdue our stubborn will ; 

From death’s dark mountains turn our feet 
Unto thy holy hill. 

Thou art the Life, the Truth, the Way, 

0 let thy staff and rod 

Mark all the journey, dark or bright. 

The way that leads to God. 


THE END. 





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